Moon and Sun- Mortal Instruments fanfiction
by collaborate.fmc
Summary: Clary Fray and Jace Herondale are living together in New York. Talia Goldwalker and her brother, Christopher Goldwalker, are living in New Zealand, in fear of the demons hiding out in Duniden. Why do these four people get tied together? What ancient history are they mixed up in?
1. Chapter 1

_Clary was running._

 _Her red hair was flying out behind her and she was dressed in a grubby shirt and black shorts. Mud streaked her pale, freckled skin and she was giggling._

" _Jonathan!" she called._

" _Clary." He appeared from seemingly nowhere and smiled down at her, his green eyes sparkling. He tugged at one of her curls. "Did Mom try and braid your hair?"_

" _It hurt," Clary replied stubbornly, crossing her seven-year-old arms over her chest. "She was yanking too hard at my hair."_

 _Jonathan laughed. It was warm and full of sunshine, and Clary laughed, too. Then Jonathan's face twisted and warped before her eyes, his features as sharp as daggers, eyes black and inhuman. He grinned, face full of malic, and unsheathed a knife._

 _And Clary let herself fall._

Clary jolted up in bed, the covers slipping from her shoulders, her heart racing in her chest. She looked down at herself. Tank top and flannel pajama pants. No blood. No knife. She was filmed in cold sweat, and the sheets were twisted up around her waist. Just a dream, she told herself, sucking in gulps of air. Just a dream.

"Clary?" The sleepy voice of Jace made Clary turn her head- his eyes opened drowsily, pale and tawny in the moonlight. "Is something wrong?"

Clary shook her head. "I'm fine," she whispered, immediately feeling guilty about waking Jace up. He had been exhausted when he had arrived to their tiny apartment and had fallen straight to bed, with his shoes, pale grey shirt, and jeans still on. "Go back to sleep."

But Jace's eyes were fully open now and he was sitting up. "Is something wrong?" he repeated softly.

Clary shook her head as convincingly as she could. _Just a dream._

Jace tilted his head. "You were saying something in your sleep."

"Oh." Clary swallowed. "Just… a, um, nightmare."

Concern immediately clouded over Jace's face. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought you weren't having them anymore."

Clary looked down at her hands.

"You can tell me the truth," Jace pressed.

Clary swallowed hard. "Well… I was seven," she said slowly. "And Jonathan was my brother. My real brother. Like at the end, in Edom. And in every dream, he becomes Sebastian and stabs me. And I let him stab me. And I wake up…" Clary's voice shook and she swallowed. "And I wake up thinking about how it might've been different. If…"

Jace's face was stony. "If he had been your brother," he said flatly.

Clary nodded, mute.

Jace's lips thinned and he swung himself swiftly out of bed, shaking his hair back- it caught the moonlight spilling in through the window, turning the golden glint to silver. "He's not," he said in the same remote tone.

"I know," Clary hastened to say. "And I hate him, for what he-"

Jace's fists were clenched by his sides. "It won't be different. Sebastian is a monster. He will always be."

"I-"

"He's not your real brother, and if you keep wishing or whatever-"

"Jace, I-"

"If you keep thinking about it, then-"

"I KNOW!" Clary's voice rose to a shout and Jace turned to look at her, shocked. Clary was stunned herself- she unclenched her hands from around the blankets bunched up in her fists and tried to calm her breathing. "It's just, I keep replaying that scene over and over again in my head. Where he was dying and was Jonathan. And I keep thinking that it was my fault, and I know it's my fault, truly, I do, it's not yours. And I shouldn't be thinking about how things would've turned out-"

"I know," Jace interrupted. His face was closed. "I'm going to take a shower."

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him and Clary tucked her knees under her chin, hugging her legs to her chest. She pushed thoughts of Sebastian out of her mind and focused on the apartment. She and Jace had done everything to make the tiny space their own, with butter-yellow walls and a fraying carpet, with the Angel rising from the lake embrodiered on it. It was painstakingly neat, due to Jace, with pictures tacked up all over the room- Clary and Jace in Central Park- Simon and Isabelle, Simon with his arm around Isabelle, flashing the world's lamest thumbs-up, Isabelle with a sweet scowl and a silk kimono that only she could ever look good in. A picture of Alec and Jace, Jace in Alec's ratty pullover sweater, Alec in Jace's crisp shirt and jeans. Alec and Magnus in Peru. A photo of Jocelyn and Luke and Maryse, all laughing together, their faces bright and happy. Then a picture of Isabelle, Clary, Magnus, Alec, Simon and Jace, all on Alec's birthday. Alec was blushing, the tips of his ears bright red, but grinning helplessly.

The door closed behind Clary, jerking her out of her reverie- she turned to see Jace coming out of the bathroom, sliding on a black shirt. "I'm sorry."

Clary was suddenly reminded of another time, when Jace had come out of a bathroom and apologized, in Valentine's apartment. She nodded. "It's all right."

"It's just.." Jace sighed and pushed his hands through his hair in frustration. "All my life, I've wanted to make things better for the people I love. And I can't hurt or kill nightmares or painful thoughts and memories." He gave her an agonized look through his fingers. "Am I making sense?"  
Clary nodded.

"Well… I just want to make things better for you." He dropped his hands into his lap. "That's it. I'm sorry if I made you feel terrible."

He looked so vulnerable, all of his armor down, sitting there, that Clary reached out and laid her hand across his arm. He looked down, and so did she, at her slender fingers, pale against his golden skin. "You have," she promised him. "You've made my life so much better. It's true," she added at Jace's doubtful look. "You have. You will."

Jace smiled and Clary leaned over and kissed him on the lips, a light touch of comfort. "Now go to sleep," she ordered, drawing back. "You're tired."

Jace grinned reluctantly and kissed her on the cheek, then lay down and closed his eyes. Clary lay down too, but her eyelids didn't drift shut. Instead, she stayed awake, watching Jace breathe until morning came.


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own most of these characters. Cassandra Clare does. Reviews are so, so appreciated! Thank you!**

"Talia? Letter."

Talia Goldwalker looked up from her mug of lukewarm hazelnut coffee to see her brother, Christopher, standing by the mail slot, brandishing a manilla envelope. Talia took it with a small frown, flipping it around to look at the return address. Reina Smith, the High Warlock of Duniden. _Great,_ Talia thought. _Just what my day needs. More bad news._

Nevertheless, she ripped the envelope clumsily open, and a sheet of folded paper clattered to the table. Talia picked it up and unfolded it, eyes scanning the text.

 _Dear Talia Goldwalker,_

 _It has been brought of my attention that a group of unknown demons have been taking refuge in Duniden. There are two mundanes dead, though no obvious wounds. The Clave are worried- relocation to Idris may be nessecary. I will send another letter once more information has been told to me. Thank you._

 _Yours in friendship,_

 _Reina Smith_

"Tal?"

Talia looked up at Christopher. He looked especially young, standing there in his flannel pajamas, dark eyes too big in his pale face, even though he was sixteen, like her. They were twins, after all, though Talia would never hesitate to tell anyone that she was six minutes and thirty-seven seconds older.

Christopher gestured to the letter. "What... what does it say?"

Talia shoved the letter roughly into the envelope, stalked over to the trash bin, and pushed it deep between the old newspapers and banana peels. "That? Nothing. Relocation to Idris might be nessecary. You heard about the demons, right? The Clave is all excited and jumpy."

"Oh." Christopher leaned against the counter, worrying at his lower lip. Talia looked down at her own hands. She never bit her lips raw, unlike her brother, but her nails were bleeding and chewed down to the beds. She shoved them into the pockets of her pajama pants.

"Well, I've never been to Idris before," Christopher said in a falsely bright voice. "It might be interesting."

"Don't be stupid," Talia said sharply. "We're not relocating to Idris." She dumped her mug of coffee into the sink and scrubbed it hard. Too hard. "We'll stay right here. And we'll be fine." She looked over at Christopher, half telling herself this, half telling him. "We'll be fine, all right? We'll be fine."

 **Sorry if this was too short of a chapter. I'll try to keep updating as soon as possible.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own most of these characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

Clary awoke abruptly. Grey November light drifted through the opened curtains. She sat up, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, disoriented, her brain still half asleep. Slowly, memories of the night drifted back- her nightmare, her conversation with Jace, laying there awake, and then finally drifting off into an uneasy doze.

Clary swung herself out of bed to see a note slapped to the rumpled sheets- _Will be back by noon. At Institute. See you then. Love you,_ in Jace's loopy, messy scrawl. A slight smile lifted the corners of Clary's lips- she grabbed clothes and stumbled into the bathroom, showering quickly and slipping into a comfortable sweater, jeans, and boots, and then heading into the kitchen.

The kitchen and living room were combined, only a counter with two wobbly stools sitting there seperating the two. A frayed straw rug itched under Clary's toes, and she walked quickly across it, not liking the feeling on the soles of her feet- Jace kept saying that he would buy a real rug to go in the living room, but he never got around to it. A ratty Salvation Army armchair and lemon-colored, stuffed sofa sat atop the rug, both secondhand. Paintings littered the walls- some of Clary's, with wild, abstract colors behind portraits of abstract people, and some of artists she just liked.

Seeing all of it made Clary smile. She followed the faint scent of coffee to the coffee maker, where Jace had made some- Clary poured herself a cup and was just sitting down when her phone buzzed. She flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Clarissa?" The voice was sharp and unfarmiliar, crackly with static. Voices buzzed and murmured in the background. Clary pressed the phone harder against her ear. "Excuse me?"

"Is this Clarissa Fairchild?" the person asked.

"Yes," Clary said warily.

"This is Mayrse. Mayrse Lightwood?"

"Oh. Hello, Mayrse." Clary hadn't seen the elderly woman for about two years, but she could summon up a vauge picture in her mind- Mayrse's dark hair, so much like her daughters', shot through with strands of silver, her finely tailored jacket, the tired lines at her eyes and lips, the tension in her jaw. "Are you well? Is everything okay?"

"You might say so." Maryse's voice was clipped. "Have you heard about the recent demonic activity in Duniden, New Zealand?"

"Oh..." Clary searched her brain. She remembered about Jace ranting about something or rather during dinner... "Kind of," she admitted. "But their wards are up and running, correct?"

"We weren't sure about this fact until an hour ago," Mayrse replied. "And we got confirmation from Wrangel Island- the wards _are_ up and running. Working, completely well."

"So demons... can't get into New Zealand if the wards are up, can they?" Clary asked, bewildered.

"That's the question. And if the wards are up and demons can still get through, we don't know what's happening. We're sending people to the Spiral Labarynth to try and find answers."

"Then... why did you call me?"

"We need a group to personally go down to New Zealand and investigate this. We have picked you, my children- Isabelle, Alec, and Jace- Magnus Bane, Simon Lewis, and your mother, Jocelyn. You leave tomorrow morning, five o'clock am. Magnus will supply the Portal. Be there on time."

The line clicked dead and Clary slowly lowered her phone and stared at it in utter confusion and shock.

Then she promptly picked the phone back up and called Jace.


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own most of these characters. Cassandra Clare does. Reviews are so appreciated! Thank you.**

The person Talia called when she needed to rant was Katherine Stern.

Katherine lived up to her surname- she was quiet and, most importantly, listened to Talia. She could be strict, and she followed the rules. She wasn't part of the Duniden Institute, and she had stopped following the Clave three years ago, and had virtually become a mundane. Talia didn't even remember her Shadowhunter surname now- she frankly didn't think of Katherine as Nephilim anymore, even though she did complain about training with her- but still, Katherine had the blood of angels running through her veins.

Talia waited until her brother went out to get the newspaper down the block, then snatched up her phone and punched in Talia's number, holding the phone to her ear.

Katherine picked up on the second ring. "Hello?" Her voice was soft and reassuring.

"Katherine." Talia leaned against the counter. "I just got a letter."

"Oh, no." Katherine's voice was slightly amused, which irritated Talia. "What now?"

"Shush," Talia snapped. "This is important." She explained in depth to Katherine about the letter from Reina, and by the end, Talia could tell that her friend wasn't smiling anymore.

"I heard about the people dead, in the newspaper," Katherine said quietly. "Demonic activity? Really?"

"Apparently." Talia fiddled with a strand of her hair between her fingertips. "D'you think it's serious?"

"I don't know..." Talia heard shuffling and knew that Katherine was pacing. "I mean, Tal, I'm really not part of this anymore. I'm a mundane. I was shunted aside by the Clave. I didn't want to live by the Law anymore. I don't know if I can put my opinion in on this..."

"Christopher thinks relocation to Idris might be... um, nessecary." Talia fought to keep her voice light, but it was difficult, especially since she had been bluffing when she told Christopher to not be stupid, that it wouldn't be needed. In tr

In truth, it was one of her worst fears- uprooting, having to move everything that she had ever had. This was where she and Christopher had been born. This was where her parents had been killed.

"Oh, Talia." Katherine let out a long breath.

"I didn't say _I_ thought so," Talia said defensively, but she knew that it was a weak argument.

"It's all right," Katherine said, voice gentler. "Hey- I'll be at Amy's Coffee Shop, okay? Meet me there."

"Yep. See you soon," Talia said, and put the phone down.

After leaving Christopher at the apartment and instructing him to work on kata for her- Luc would never know if she or Christopher did it, he always got them confused, as Christopher had grown his hair out in the past two months, and now it brushed his shoulders, just like Talia's- grabbed her jacket, and raced to the coffee shop. Luckily, she lived close by, and she didn't have to spend a long time in the freezing cold.

Amy's Coffee Shop had layers of strong glamour on it. To a mundane eye, it looked like a crumbling old barn with "Keep Out" signs posted everywhere. Talia quickly stripped the glamour away, to a small, dusty shop, and ducked through the door. The rusty bell overhead jangled slightly.

There were barely any people sitting at the plastic tables and chairs that had been scattered seemingly randomly around. Talia quickly spotted Katherine and made her way over, unzipping her jacket.

Katherine was sitting there, hands clasped before her as if praying, a Styrafoam cup filled with coffee in front of her. Her smooth auburn hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she was dressed in a fading grey shirt and jeans. She looked up as Talia approached and offered her a small smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Talia said, sitting down- her cheeks were slapped raw and her fingertips were red from the cold. She grabbed Katherine's cup and took a sip, nearly gagging- the bitter and slightly salty liquid filled her mouth.

"Decaf," Katherine explained.

"Got it." Talia pushed the cup away in distaste.

"Anyways. Talk." Katherine pointed at Talia. "You sound like you need it."

Talia frowned and rubbed her nose. "Well- it's just- there are wards here, right?" she burst out.

Katherine nodded slowly. "Of course there are wards."

"Then why are demons breaking through? Something's wrong. They've sent people to Wrangel Island, and the people working there are totally bewildered. They have no idea what's going on." Talia slashed her hand through the air as if cutting something apart. "No. Idea."

"They're sending a group of people down here to work on it," Katherine said quietly. She looked down into the cup of decaf coffee. "Jace Herondale. Clarissa Fairchild."

Talia scrunched up her face. "The celebrities? I thought that they didn't want their _famous people_ to die." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Katherine frowned slightly at her. "Talia..."  
Talia changed tracks quickly. "But really. I'm worried that Idris might be nessecary. If nowhere is safe..."

"Shadowhunters are meant to protect mundanes. You have to stay, if that's what you're worried about." Katherine took a sip of her coffee and fixed Talia with a stare over the rim of her cup.

Just then, the door clanged shut, and someone stepped through- Talia turned around to look. The person had silver-blond hair. His hands were gloveless, and he wore a black sweater and jeans. His pale face was flushed with the cold, and he had bright green eyes. He walked up to the counter.

Katherine was grinning. "I thought that you swore off boyfriends," she teased.

"Shut up." Talia was only half-joking. She stood and grabbed her jacket. "I'll call you if anything else happens."

Katherine nodded, joking mood gone, and stood as well, tossing her cup into the trash. "You should call that Reina person, get more information. Maybe she knows something."

"Maybe." Talia looked down at her hands- slim and pale, against the plastic table. "Nothing's for sure."


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own most of these characters. Cassandra Clare does. Reviews are so appreciated! Thank you.**

Jace didn't pick up, so Clary went over to the Institute.

She grabbed her jacket, zipping it up over her sweater,wrapped a scarf around her neck, and headed outside. The icy air pelted her face- it felt like stinging shards of glass. Clary shivered and pulled her scarf up tighter.

It was only a brisk walk to the Institute, but Clary sprinted all the way there, hoping to get some warmth into her freezing limbs. The doors knew her, giving way under her touch, and Clary stepped inside.

Shadowhunters in Clave robes milled around. Murmurs rippled through the crowds, and tense looks were shot towards Clary- she lowered her hood and nervously twisted her hair up, securing it into a sloppy bun with her fingertips.

"Clary?" A girl with curly, white-blond hair and intense blue-green eyes, the color of verdegris, hurried up to Clary, catching her by the arm. Helen Blackthorn. The Penhallow ring glinted on her ring finger, and Clary's mind flashed back to three months ago- Jace, dressed in handsome gold, his eyes laughing, smiling as he watched Helen and Aline's marriage. Three months before that, Clary and Jace had gotten married, with Jocelyn and Luke smiling on, Alec and Isabelle and Simon standing together, Magnus with his arm firmly linked around Alec's.

"Helen. Hey," Clary said by way of greeting. She fiddled with her jacket zipper. "I was looking for Jace. I just got a call-"

"The one from Mayrse?" Helen interrupted. She laid one hand on Clary's arm, sympathy in her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. It's only for a few months, am I right?"

"Yeah." Clary brushed the sympathy away- she didn't think that she could take it right now, with the nightmares every night about Jonathan.

 _Jonathan._ The name pricked Clary sharply and she shoved the thought violently down. "Anyways-"

"He's likely in the training room, with Isabelle and Simon." Helen waved her arm. "Good luck, Clary."

Clary nodded and raced up the stairs, bursting into the training room. Shortswords, rubber-tipped and some real, littered the ground- Jace whirled around. He was dressed in loose and light clothes- oversize shirt and canvas drawstring pants. His golden hair gleamed in the light, and he set down the dagger he had been holding. "Clary?" He took her wrists. "Is something wrong?"

Clary caught her breath and swallowed hard. Jace's tawny eyes were slightly panicked, a trace of worry caught in the gold. "I got a call from Mayrse. They're sending a group down to New Zealand- you heard of the demonic threats? The wards are up and running, and we're supposed to go down and invesitigate."

"What?" Isabelle's voice interjected. She was leaned against one wall, the window against her back, steely grey sky spread out behind her, dressed in a fitted black top and leggings, barefoot against the sticky pine floor. Her black hair was swept up in a loose bun, and she had mascara swiped neatly on. Her black eyes flashed with worry. "What is it? Which group?"

"You. Me. Jace. Simon. Alec. Jocelyn, my mother- and Magnus. Five o'clock am tomorrow morning."

Isabelle stared at her, agape. "They can't do that-"

"Yes, they can." Jace drew himself up. His voice was clipped and Clary immediately looked up at him in worry, all of her muscles drawing together. "The Clave would do that. I assume that, if we don't fix it, relocation to Idris is nessecary?"

Clary bit her cheek until she tasted blood. And nodded.

Isabelle turned her head away as if she couldn't bear it- a strand of hair fell loose and brushed her cheek, and Clary saw Simon reach out and pull her into an embrace, resting his chin against the top of her head.

That night, Clary, not surprisingly, dreamed of Jonathan.

He had bright, almost dazzling green eyes and a softer face, his silver-blond hair tousled, wearing a black sweater and jeans. He pushed open the door to a coffee shop.

Clary found herself in the coffee shop, sitting next to two other women- one had smooth auburn hair, hands clasped around a Styrafoam cup. The other had dark hair had tumbled down her back.

Jonathan looked over at them. "Clary," he said.

"Jonathan."

"You're my sister," he responded, and tucked a curl behind her cheek. "You've always been, right?"

Clary looked up at his face and saw his eyes turn black, two dark tunnels, his face sharpen. And she nodded.

Clary's eyes jolted open and she lay in bed, heart hammering. Beside her, Jace breathed silently, sleeping. Clary didn't wake him. She had the strangest sensation that she knew the two people that had been sitting beside her, but couldn't place it.


	6. Chapter 6

**I do not own most of these characters. Cassandra Clare does. Reviews are so appreciated! Thank you.**

Clary didn't fall back asleep. Instead, she got out of bed, dressed in jeans and a comfortable sweater, ran a comb through her knotted curls, and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She glanced at the worn plaid suitcase, splayed out on the floor, cover thrown open. It made her feel slightly sick to her stomach even _thinking_ about going to New Zealand, with all of the confusion and demons and worry and the wards not working.

And, she and Jace had just started to get settled in their tiny apartment. To do this was like uprooting a life.

 _It's only for a couple of months. Until we get this all sorted out,_ Clary told herself sternly. _So stop being stupid._ She grabbed a couple of sweaters and jeans at random, folding them and shoving them into the suitcase. She unlatched her gear from the peg beside the wall and neatly packed it in, along with her weapons' belt and Heospheros, then zipped the case shut and lugged it out to the living room. It was four-thirty am. Jace would be up soon. Clary pushed the suitcase near the wall, poured herself coffee, dumped several sugar packets into it, and pulled the newspaper towards her, paging idly through it. A flashing headline caught her attention.

 **THREE PEOPLE FOUND DEAD FROM UNKNOWN CAUSES.**

Clary's stomach tensed as she read the rest of the article, horror growing more and more acute- detailed descriptions on how the people were wounded, limp, seeming to have been dead for hours.

"Are you okay?"

Clary jerked her head up, simultaneously shoving the paper away- it fluttered off the counter and Jace stepped out of the hallway, dressed in fresh jeans and a dark sweater that made his eyes more amber than gold. "Your face is pinched," he said gently.

"Oh." Clary tried to relax her forehead. "It's just.."

Jace picked up the paper and his eyes widened slightly, but otherwise, his face stayed blank. He slapped the paper down on the counter, his teeth clenched, jaw locked in place. "Great," he muttered, pushing his fingers through his hair and making a fist. "Great."

Clary was about to speak- to console him or argue with him- when her phone rang. She flipped it open. _Magnus._ "Yes?"

"Hey. Biscuit. Get down to the Institute with your arrogant lover. We're all here- if we want the Portal to be on time, you'd better get coming, or we're leaving you. And trust me- Mayrse will _not_ be happy with that."

"Coming." Clary snapped her phone shut and shoved it into her pocket, grabbing her suitcase and a coat- made of thick, heavy material that buckled across the chest, just like the one Luke had gotten hair, so long ago. Jace had bought it for her when they had first got married, and she had laughed and told him that he couldn't win her over with a coat. Clary felt a sharp pang in her chest at the thought of how they had been so carefree. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to Jace. "Coming?"

Jace's face was blank for a second, devoid of all emotion, and then he nodded. "Coming."

Everyone was already clustered around the Institute when Clary and Jace arrived. Alec, dressed in his pullover sweater and jeans, but with a blue scarf around his neck that Magnus had surely picked out. Isabelle and Simon were standing together- the wind whipped Isabelle's hair around her face, and her eyes were stony. Simon had his arm around her, holding her close. Jocelyn was there, in black jeans and a turtleneck and boots. She hurried towards Clary, grabbing her wrists. "Clary."

"I'm okay, Mom." Clary dug deep and plastered a smile on her face. "I'm great."

"I'm so sorry." Jocelyn looked almost in tears- she smoothed Clary's hair away from her face. "I didn't want this to happen. Especially _me,_ going to Dunedin..." her gaze drifted. "I wish that Luke could come. I would feel so much safer."

Clary wished that she could comfort her mother. "It'll be all right," she said, as soothingly as possible.

Jocelyn pursed her lips together just as Magnus called out. "Portal's open!"

The Portal shimmered against the wall, a doorway. Clary could see a vast expanse of grey sky and a street in front of them, shining in the glow. She took Jace's hand, interlocking her fingers with his- he looked down at her, surprise in his face.

"Is something wrong?" Clary asked.

Jace shook his head. "I'm fine."

Isabelle and Simon went through first, swallowed up by the Portal. Then Alec and Magnus. Jocelyn stepped through without glancing back.

Jace looked over at Clary and she kept her eyes on the Portal. She would find what was happening. _They would._

And she stepped through, Jace right beside her, like he always was, firmly holding her hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**I do not own most of these characters. Cassandra Clare does. Reviews are so appreciated! Thank you.**

Talia was training.

She punched viciously at the bag standing there. Her fists ached from pounding against the rough canvas. Sweat dripped down the side of her face, plastering her dark hair to her temples.

If only she could just punch all of her problems away. That would be easier, Talia mused.

"Tal- you're going to kill that bag."

Talia didn't even turn to know it was Christopher. "So?" Her breathing rhymed with the steady sound of her knuckles against the bag.

"I mean..." Christopher edged into Talia's sight. His hair was hastily brushed, damp, curling at the edges, and he was in a ratty tee and jeans. "Is something... wrong?"

"Wrong? No, everything's just _great,"_ Talia said, letting sarcasm drip from her words. She smashed the bag one last time, turned around, and put her hands on her hips. "Did you come here to tell me something important?"

Christopher looked hurt. More than hurt- he looked wounded. Talia felt a tiny twang of guilt in her stomach, but she shoved it down. "It's just..." Christopher shuffled his feet.

Talia examined her split knuckles in a manner that she hoped as casual. "Just _what_ , Christopher?"

"You need a stele for that," Christopher said quietly, pointing at Talia's bruised and bloody hands.

"No, I don't. _You_ need to tell me what's going on."

Christopher bit his lips. "There's a group here, from the New York Institute. They're trying to help us."

Interest spiked in Talia's head. She raised her eyebrows. "Really? Who?"

Christopher appeared that he was trying not to look too eager. "Jace Herondale."

"And? Not just the show-off, hopefully," Talia scorned.

"He's not a show-off." Christopher crossed his arms over his chest.

"Just because you're in love with him doesn't mean we all are," Talia snapped, and immediately wished that she could stuff the words back in her mouth. Christopher's face flushed pink, then turned as purple as a plum. His eyes glistened.

 _Oh, by the Angel. Why do I always have to make him cry?_

"Chris-" Talia started, but Christopher shook his head. "Stop," he choked, and left.

Talia ground her teeth in frustration and windmill-kicked the bag as hard as she could. It swayed slightly to the left. She _knew_ that she shouldn't have teased Christopher about that, especially since she suspected that he _was_ actually in love with Jace.

Talia made herself stop smashing the bag to pieces. She picked up her training bag with her clothes, headed down to the washroom, showered quickly, and stepped into jeans and a faded blue shirt, pulling her dark hair back, and then heading down the steps, bag slung over one shoulder.

The Institute was bustling with people, most of them in Clave robes. Talia scanned the crowd just as someone came rushing up to her- Savannah Carstairs. If Talia remembered correctly, she was the cousin of Emma Carstairs, who she had heard a lot about.

Savannah's blond hair was pulled back into a tangly braid, and her cheeks were flushed. "Have you _seen_ Jace?" She gushed. "By the Angel-"

"They're here to help us with the demonic activity and wards, not for people to fall in love with them," Talia replied cuttingly, but Savannah appeared to be in such a good mood that she was still beaming. She grabbed Talia's wrist and, despite her protestings, dragged her towards the middle of the room,

There was a group clustered there- a boy with black hair and dark blue eyes, wearing a ratty brown pullover sweater with a blue scarf wrapped around his neck, standing by a man with tousled black hair. He turned, and Talia swallowed a gasp- he had slitted cat-eyes, gold and green. Warlock.

There was a woman with red hair, streaked with silver, wearing a black turtleneck and jeans and boots, looking around nervously, fiddling with her hair as she spoke to the head of the Institute, Giena Nightdove. Then there was another girl, looking like a carbon copy of the woman, except with a more petite frame. She had red curls drawn back in a ponytail and bright green eyes. Mother and daughter, Talia suspected.

There was a beautiful woman with dark, raven-black hair, standing next to a man with crooked glasses and brown hair, chatting with a Shadowhunter from the Dunedin Institute.

And then, the person they had all been speaking about- a man, standing by the petite red-headed girl. He held himself with a kind of loose confidence. His golden hair caught sparks from each lamp hanging precariously from the ceiling, and his tawny eyes scanned the room with a kind of observation that was particular to good Shadowhunters.

Talia immediately hated him.

"He's _gorgeous,_ " Savannah gasped.

"That's his girlfriend." Talia pointed at the red-headed girl. "Clarissa Fairchild."

"Whatever." Savannah waved her hand arily. "I'm going to go talk to him."

"They have to get settled," Talia argued, but Savannah had already rushed up. Jace Herondale looked skeptical, while Clarissa laughed behind her hand.

A smile twitched at Talia's lips and she shook it away. She had better things to worry about. She shook her head and headed up the stairs, back to the training room.


	8. Chapter 8

**I do not own most of these characters; Cassandra Clare does. Please review this story! Thanks!**

The room that Giena Nightdove showed Clary to was sparse, with one queen bed and whitewashed walls. There was one door- leading off to a closet, Clary assumed.

She turned and mustered up her best smile. "Thank yuou, Giena. This means a lot to me- I mean, us."

The curly haired woman returned her smile warmly. "It was nothing," she responded arily, waving one hand. "Thank you for coming. Bathrooms are down the hall- one women, one men. The cafeteria is two floors down."

Clary nodded. Her head hurt, and she wanted to be alone, but she kept a polite look on her face.

As if Giena had seen her thoughts, she reached out and touched Clary's shoulder lightly. "I'll leave you to get settled. Come to me if you have any questions, all right? We'll be meeting tomorrow at seven-thirty in the morning."

Giena left and Clary shut the door, locking it, and let her head thunk against the wall. Flakes of off-white paint drifted down onto her shoulders. She needed to think, to gather herself and evaporate the worry hatching in her ribs, pushing up painfully against her lungs. She breathed deep.

Clary knelt and unzipped her suitcase, unloading all of her clothes, and hung them in the shallow closet. Her gear went by the peg next to her bed, her weapons' belt on the floor next to it, Heospheros laid carefully beside it.

A knock sounded on the door and Clary straightened, smoohing back her hair with her palms and trying to straighten the stress from her face. "Come in."

The door opened, admitting Jace. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Unpacking? Everyone's out partying. Even Alec. If Alec's partying, then certainly _you_ should be."

"Why are they partying?" Any normal day, Clary would've teased Jace back, playfully argued with him. Today wasn't a normal day. Her voice sounded thin and tired to her own ears, rubbed raw. "There's nothing to celebrate."

Jace's smile dropped and he crossed the room, gently lifting her chin with his fingertips. "I know that you're disappointed. But we're okay, right? We're fine."

"Of course," Clary murmured, averting her gaze.

"I mean it." Jace's eyes were amber up close- he was serious. "I love you, Clary. I always will, and I just want you to be happy."

 _This is Jace. Make an effort,_ Clary told herself sternly. She breathed deep. "I love you, too."

Jace grinned. "Well, what do you say?"

"What do you mean?" Clary sank down on the edge of her bed.

"Dunedin has some of the best coffee shops in the world. Let's go."

Clary laughed. It was tired, but genuine. "Really? They do? Or are you making it up?"

"Maybe." Jace grinned. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet until they were nearly nose-to-nose.

"Come on." For all Jace's casualness, there was a trace of pleading in his eyes. His eyelashes brushed Clary's cheek. "You're exhausted, and I want to take you somewehere. You need coffee."

"Don't we need to work on the wards first?" Clary said helplessly.

"That's tomorrow."

Clary sighed, casting one last glance back at her suitcase, and let Jace lead her outside.

The coffee shop was loud and jarring inside, some kind of faerie band playing from the static-filled loudspeakers. Downworlders milled around- Clary spotted the empty eyes of vampires, the ring of gold in the werewolves' eyes, bordering their irises. There was a tiny dance floor, if it could even be called that, with tables and chairs cluttered around this.

Jace led her over to the bar, where Magnus and Alec were leaning. Magnus's smile was crooked, and Alec looked serious as he held a plastic cup of something.

"Coffee," Alec explained as Jace raised one eyebrow. "I'm not going to get drunk the night before we need to help with an important project. Unlike you," he added with an afterthought.

Jace looked mock-offended. "Please. Me? I am a very trustworthy person."

Magnus snorted. Clary looked over at him- the warlock was dressed in neon green slacks, alien sneakers, and a flashy purple jacket over a clashing dark orange button-down. He was tapping one foot to the beat of the weird music. "This is what I call a good time."

"Partying in the middle of nowhere in some coffee shop?" Clary asked skeptically.

"Certainlt, Biscuit." Magnus unpeeled himself from the counter he had been leaning against. "I'm going to go get a coffee. Anyone?"

"I'll have one," Jace said. He shot his eyes at Clary. "So will Clary."

Clary frowned at him- her stomach was churning, and she wasn't sure she could keep anything down. Magnus disappeared into the mob of people, just as Isabelle hurried up. She had changed into a black dress that made her pale skin look even paler. She had kept on her jeans and combat boots, and the outfit made her look frightening and tough, not scary. Simon, behind her, holding her hand and laughing, still wore the same shirt and jeans.

"Hey," he said as he reached Clary- his smile slowly faded and he tipped his head to the side. "Clary?"

"I'm fine," Clary said hastily. For some reason, she couldn't bear the thought of her best friend being worried about her. "Just... tense."

Simon had drawn away from Isabelle. His eyebrows were furrowed. "Is this about your nightmares?" he said quietly, dropping his voice.

Simon was the only other person other than Jace Clary had told about her frequent nightmares involving her brother. Something tasted bitter in her mouth. She swallowed and nodded. "Yes and no. I mean, everything that's going on, the demons, the wards, the stress everywhere-"

Just then, Magnus arrived with three cups of coffee balanced expertly in his arms and Isabelle took Simon's hand again, leading him back to the dance floor. Jace turned to Clary. "The outside view is nice."

Clary was grateful, immensely- the rush and pounding of the coffee shop was starting to make her head turn. She pushed as quickly as she could without seeming impolite outdoors.

The fresh, cold air reminded her slightly of Alicante in the winter. Clary clutched her cup to her chest and breathed it in.

Jace came up behind her and put an arm around her shoulders. He didn't speak, and they stayed there for a long time, looking at nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

**OK, so, just if some of you didn't catch this: Yes, this is a Clace story. Clary and Jace are married. There are also some other ships in here with the characters that I made up. I do not own most of these characters- Cassandra Clare does. Reviews are so so so so so appreciated! Thank you!**

Talia ate a bite of her noodles. One hung out of her mouth, and she slurped it back in angrily.

Christopher clanked his spoon around his bowl- his head was bent, hair falling towards his eyes, and he wasn't looking at her.

Talia never liked to be the one to give up, but this was too much. She finally set down her fork. "Christopher, this is stupid. What's wrong?"

Christopher finally looked up, and averted his eyes. " _Nothing._ " He sounded almost angry.

"By the Angel," Talia said, exasperated. "If _nothing_ makes you look like that, it's something." She forced her voice to soften. "Is this the comment I made earlier?"

Christopher showed no recgonition on his face.

"About Jace?" Talia pressed.

" _Raziel._ No, Tal." Christopher drummed his fingertips against the table. "This has _nothing_ to do with that. And there's nothing about that, do you know that? I was totally dating Savannah two months ago." There was a flush against his cheekbones, and Talia knew he was lying, but didn't push it.

Instead, she leaned back in her chair. "Fine, what is it then?"

"It's _everything._ " Christopher sounded more than angry- he sounded wounded. Hurt. Like an injured animal. He shoved his bowl of soup away- he had barely touched it, and Talia felt a pang of worry in her gut. Christopher did look thinner these days if she thought about it, though he had never been obese- now, his clothes hung off of his scrawny frame.

"Hey." She reached out and tapped his knuckles with her index and middle fingers. She hadn't done that since she was six years old, when she had wanted to know something.

The faintest smile touched Christopher's lips.

"Hey," she said again, tapping once more. "I just want to know if you're okay."

"I'm fine. More than fine." Christopher took her hand and tapped it back. For all their twin resemblance, Christopher and Talia's hands were different- Christopher's were slim and narrow and pale, while Talia had bones popping out all through her skin. Knobbly fingers with calluses all over the palms and hangnails and chewed nails.

Talia frowned at him, and then movement caught her eye- she looked over to see a boy enter the Vietnamese resteraunt. He had vibrant green eyes and rumpled silver-blond hair. Something farmiliar twanged in her head, like a thick rubber band...

He walked over towards their table and flashed Talia a short grin. A flush heated her face and she forced it down. _What the heck?_ She screamed internally. _You haven't dated anyone forever. For all the time you've been alive._

He leaned briefly against their table- Christopher was squinting up at him like he was looking at the sun directly. "Hey." He adressed Talia. "Are you part of the Dunedin Institute?"

Talia frowned at him. "Why do you want to know?" Instinctively, her hand travelled towards the waistband of her jeans, where she had tucked a sheathed shortsword.

The boy held up his hands with a grin. "Relax. I just want to see Clarissa. Clarissa..." his eyes darkened slightly, an emotion that Talia couldn't place, and then was gone so fast that she couldn't be sure if it was ever there. "Fairchild. Clarissa Fairchild." He repeated it as if trying to stick it in his head.

"I have no idea where she is," Talia replied coolly.

Christopher shot her a look, like _Who is this guy?_

She popped her eyes out at him. _Shut up. Why do you think I'd know?_

"Ah." The boy looked disappointed, and for some reason, Talia felt like she knew him, clearly...

"What's your name?" The words slipped out before she could stop them and Talia immediately wanted to stuff them back in her mouth. She didn't want to seem like she was _flirting,_ by the Angel.

The boy merely smiled. "Just call me Jonathan."


	10. Chapter 10

**I do not own most of these characters- Cassandra Clare does. Thank you SO much to the people who have reviewed/read/favorited/followed. You guys are awesome!**

Clary's eyes snapped open so suddenly it was almost as if someone had screamed right next to her ear.

Her back was cold, and she was staring at a white wall. _White._ Wait... weren't the walls supposed to be yellow? Clary sat up straight, covers falling from her shoulders.

Slowly, the events of yesterday trickled back, and Clary recgonized where she was- one of the spare rooms in the Dunedin Institute. _Not_ in her and Jace's cozy apartment. There was no one lying beside her, no smell of coffee.

Clary's stomach clenched in homesickness and she shook it away. _How can I be homesick after less than twenty four hours? This is insanity._ She jumped out of bed, toes screaming in protest against the cold floor, and grabbed clothes at random, heading down the hallway to the bathroom.

The floor was slick tile, and Clary nearly slipped on it several times. There were four grey plastic stalls and two showers- Clary was the only person in the bathroom. For that, she was grateful. She showered quickly under the lukewarm water, toweled dry, and stepped into jeans and a faded blue shirt, combing her hair with her fingers. She wrangled it back in a sloppy bun and glanced at herself briefly in the mirror.

She looked the same, except with her eyes tired from little sleep. Same dark red curls- same green eyes. Clary rubbed her eyes in attempt to clear them and headed down two floors.

The cafeteria was a white room with several long blue tables stretched out. Shadowhunters bustled around, eating and chatting. Clary spotted Jace, Alec, Magnus, Simon, and Izzy sitting at one table, and made a beeline over to them.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Jace teased as she dropped into the seat next to him. "Where've you been?" His voice was joking, but his eyes- worried and exhausted- said otherwise. He kissed her forehead briefly, smoothing her hair away from her face, and Clary closed her eyes, feeling a little fraction of warmth slip back into her heart.

"Save it for later." Magnus leaned against the table. He was dressed in a neon green tie with orange splotches that clashed terifically with his dark shirt that said ANGEL IN DISGUISE and bright purple jeans. "This is a family cafeteria." He waved his arm to show all of the child Shadowhunters, all sitting and eating and talking. Clary suspected that they were speaking about her. And the rest of her friends.

Jace merely shrugged, which alerted Clary that something was _definetely_ off. Jace didn't shrug.

Isabelle flicked a long strand of hair away from her face- she was dressed in a red dress and black cardigan. She gestured impatiently with her fork. "You can stop standing around discussing your love lives now. There's actually things to think about. Like, what's going to happen today?"

"I heard that we were going to have a meeting," Alec interjected, frowning. He had barely touched his plate of eggs and toast- now he pushed the tray away. He was, per usual, decked out in a ratty brown sweater and fraying jeans, though Magnus had apparently forced him to wear a long bright-red-and-blue scarf.

"Great. Meetings." Jace's jaw was tight, and Clary instictively touched his wrist.

"We need to figure out what's going on before we tackle it," Simon explained logically.

"Right." Jace's eyes were hard and cold. "Because that's what the _Clave_ has issued."

"The Clave's not the enemy here," Clary said gently. "The demons are."

Jace's face softened marginally. "I know." He stood and pushed his tray away. "I'm going to head over to the meeting room. See you there." He pushed away from the table and walked out of the cafeteria.

Clary stood immediately. "I'm going, too."

"Wait." Simon grabbed her sleeve. "Clary." He handed her an apple. "Breakfast- most important meal of the day, right?" His eyes pleaded with her.

Clary couldn't bear to let him down. She took the apple and smiled briefly. "Thanks," she murmured, and hurried out. On her way to the meeting hall, she took a bite from the fruit- her stomach churned and twisted, and she stopped briefly to toss the apple away.

When she saw the meeting hall, she gasped.

There was a large ring of glass desks over the hardwood floor, and behind that rose a large, intricate marble statue of the Angel. The artist had captured every detail- the cold pride, the outstretched wings, every little feather. There was a bright rising sun behind it, painted across the wall behind the Angel. Leaning against the base stood Jace, arms crossed.

Clary stepped over to him. "Hey."

"Hey." Jace raised his eyebrows at her.

Clary sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Listen- I know you're frustrated, and so am I-"

Jace pushed his fingers through his hair and made a fist. "It's more than that. It's not knowing _anything._ " He pushed away from the statue. "Are you still having nightmares?"

Clary chewed the inside of her cheek. "I'm fine," she lied. She didn't want to think about her nightmares. Last night, in her fitful bursts of sleep, she had dreamed of herself laughing with Jonathan, besiee a faceless girl who laughed along with them.

Jace frowned at her.

" _Really_ ," Clary insisted.

Jace bent down and touched his lips to her cheek. "You can tell me the truth," he murmured against her skin.

"I'm serious." Clary's stomach clenched around the lie- she wound her hands around Jace's neck and leaned up to kiss him lightly on the lips. Jace breathed out in surprise and kissed her back just as the door opened- Clary broke away from Jace to see Giena Nightdove, her hair pulled back in a tight braid, a flush on her high cheekbones.

"I can see tha you two are already here," she said, a trace of amusement in her words.

Clary felt heat creep up her neck. "Sorry," she mumbled, sitting hastily at a glass desk.

Giena shook her head knowingly. "Just save it for later. The others will be coming any time now."

Jace sat beside Clary just as the doors opened again and people poured in, all quickly finding seats- it was eerie how silent it was. Clary swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth and found her friends. Magnus, Isabelle, Simon, Alec, and Jocelyn. Her muscles relaxed marginally.

Giena clapped her long, knobbly, callused hands together. She stood in the center of the glass desks. "We gather today," she said, "To discuss the demonic activity that has been current in Dunedin. A group from New York has generously come down to help us. Wrangel Island has looked into this. Our wards are up and running perfectly normally. The Silent Brothers are just as mystified as we are."

A balding man with fair, wispy hair stood up. He turned and Clary saw with an amount of surprise the scar, running from his left eyelid to his lip. "Are there any other places that have been attacked? Or where demonic activity has been found?"

Giena slid a notecard out from her pocket. "New York has traces of demonic activity. Alicante. And Dunedin, of course," she read out loud, then pocketed it again. "All of these places have fine wards."

"Then couldn't it be in your own city?" Jace spoke up- he was leaning forwards, elbows balanced on knees.

"We have looked in all the suspectable places." Giena swiped a lock of hair behind her ear, and Clary could see the tired lines at her lips and eyes.

"Then what about the _un_ suspectable places?" Jace asked- his eyes were burning and Clary wanted to get up and comfort him, but knew she couldn't.

"There is too vast a majority of unsuspectable places for our patrols to cover," Giena replied, shaking her head helplessly.

"Could it be a mundane cult?" A girl with dark curls called from the back of the room- she looked about Clary's age, and was standing by that blond girl that had rushed up to Jace and giggled for two minutes straight yesterday.

"This is too strong to be a mundane cult. It has been heard of mundanes accidentally raising Greater Demons, but not this," Giena said.

"So what's the plan?" Jocelyn's fists were clenched in her lap, and Clary ached to go over and sit beside her mother. She looked down at her own hands, tight and fisted.

"The plan..." Giena looked down at the floor, and clasped her hands together. "Willing volunteers, armed and ready, will go in the places were demoic activity has been tracked. There will be backup to record what happens."

"You're just letting your warriors die?" The words blurted from Clary's lips on their own accord. At the expression, helpless and defenseless, on Giena's face, she immediately wished that she hadn't said anything.

"It's our only hope," Giena said, and the crowd broke out in murmurs and whispers.

Clary stared up at the cold face of Raziel. _But is it?_ she wondered. _And is the cause something no one expects?_


	11. Chapter 11

**I do not own most of these characters- Cassandra Clare does. Thank you SO much to the people who have reviewed/read/favorited/followed. You guys are awesome!**

The meeting ended quickly. Talia lingered for a moment at the back of the room- she felt like she was trying to jump out of her own skin, making a desicion. Should she volunteer? It meant possible death. Well, actually, _probable_ death.

But not volunteering... demons had once killed Talia's parents, and she couldn't forget that. To her horror, she felt tears spring to her eyes, and swallowed hard, clenching her fists around the sleeves of her sweater, stretching the worn knitted material. She wasn't the type of person to die- she would be fine. And it would mean revenge.

Giena Nightdove was still in the center of the glass desks, her back to Talia, speaking to the woman with fine red hair and bright green eyes and long artist's hands. Jocelyn Fray- Talia had learned her name by overhearing it. Heart beating in her throat and feeling her pulse in her fingertips, Talia started towards Giena.

Someone caught her shoulder, and Talia spun around to see Christopher, his fingers tangled in her sleeve. His eyes were dark and solemn. "Tal." His voice was low. "You can't do that- just-"

"Just _what_?" Talia snapped- all of her anger and irritation were rising to the surface, about to bubble up and explode. "Just what, Christopher?'

Christopher worried at his lower lip. "Talia, please. Don't volunteer." He took a step towards her and Talia stepped back, trying to disentangle his fingers from her jacket sleeve. "I- I don't think I could take it."

"Well, I can't take just sitting here and doing nothing, like you are." Talia's temper flared and she was suddenly spitting words out at her brother, landing them like hot coals at his feet- Christopher blinked and took a step back, his jaw tightening. "I'm not just going to do _nothing_ ," she repeated. "Demons killed our parents. Murdured them. Did you forget?" She was merciless now, hurting him, because it felt even better than hurting herself.

Christopher's face shrank and then rose. He stared at her, eyebrows furrowing together. "I couldn't forget," he whispered.

Talia felt a stab of guilt in her chest and pushed it away. "If you didn't realize, things are going wrong!" she shouted- she hadn't meant to yell and suddenly heads were turned their way. Silence.

"I didn't say they weren't," Christopher pointed out quietly.

"I'm going to volunteer." Talia lowered her voice.

"No, Talia." Christopher stepped towards her, and for a second, Talia realized how much they looked alike- their habits, Christopher running his tongue along his teeth between words, their dark curls, their hazel eyes with a perfect splice of blue-green at the bottom. "I can't lose you, too."

"Am I just a replacement for Mom and Dad? Is that what you're saying?" Talia hissed, and Christopher's face changed- anger, shock, and then pain. Agony. His eyes welled up. "You know that isn't true," he whispered.

Talia suddenly felt tears blurring her eyes and panicked- she couldn't cry now, not after years of no crying. She turned and sprinted away from the room, outside, the tears filling her eyes and blotting her vision out.

She dashed out into the streets, running blindly, shoving past the few pedestrians out in this cold weather. Her jacket was thin, but she could barely feel the chill of winter through it. She welcomed the cold, the wind slapping her face raw, as she ran until her legs buckled and folded and she collapsed against the base of a tree, hugging her legs to her chest and pressed her face into her knees.

All her life, Talia had felt like no one had been there for her. She barely remembered her parents- she had never fallen in love with anyone, no matter how many times a boy had asked her out or flirted with her, even the prettiest and most handsome person. Christopher had gotten so fragile and withdrawn that she had had to support her own weight, and now, the crushing pressure of it...

Talia cried. She really cried. Her shoulders heaved with sobs and she scrubbed her eyes angrily with her sleeve, but eventually, the tears were too much and they took over. She cried for her dead parents, for herself, and for Christopher... she cried for all of the people who had been killed by the demons, and cried for the confusion.

Suddenly, a glint of icy silver-blond caught Talia's eye- she rubbed the tears away and lifted her head, pushing back her hair. She saw broad shoulders, a wiry frame, a black jacket, and rumpled silvery blond hair.

Talia's heart skipped a beat. Was it-? No, it couldn't be. That strange person that had introduced himself as _Jonathan..._ he disappeared into an alleyway.

Almost immediately, Talia was on her feet, racing again, towards the alley- she stopped and crept around the corner, fingers clinging to the cinderblock.

Jonathan was leaning there, his green eyes closed meditatively, as if deep in thought. Talia stared at him for a couple of seconds. There was something strangely, eerily farmiliar about him...

"Hello," he said, opening his eyes and turning to stare straight at her.

Talia jumped and then scowled darkly at him. "Don't surprise me like that," she warned.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow good-naturedly. "How _should_ I surprise you?" he asked, unpeeling himself from the wall. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask the same of you." Talia crossed her arms over her chest. "I know everybody in our town, and I've never even caught a glimpse of you before."

Jonathan's eyes darkened briefly. "Really? Most people say I look farmiliar."

Talia blinked. It was almost like he had just read her thoughts. "Really," she said warily.

Jonathan nodded. "Very strange," he added conversationally. "I guess I can tell you. I wanted to see Clarissa Fairchild."

"You mentioned that."

"Did I? Well. I do."

"Why?"

Jonathan paused for a second, but so quickly that Talia was sure she had made it up- he never missed a beat as he replied, "I've heard a lot about her. She's supposed to be a great warrior. I wanted- training."

"Didn't you get trained?" Talia raised an eyebrow skeptically, eyes skipping over to his left palm, where the Voyance rune was usually inked. This boys' knuckles were smooth and fair, unmarked. Strange. Maybe he hadn't?

Jonathan lifted one shoulder. "For a time. I dropped out of the Institute. I wanted to become a mundane, free from all the pressure. Now I want to learn again."

"You could be of help. There are so many demons around," Talia blurted, and then immediately mentally berated herself. Why had she told that to a complete stranger?

Jonathan's eyebrows furrowed. "Well. Interesting. That's... strange." There was something oddly placed in his words.

Talia nodded, suddenly deprived of words.

"Well. We've met properly now- what's your name?"

Talia frowned at him. "Why?"

"We're chums now. Isn't that what you New Zealanders say? Chums?"

"Not at _all_ ," Talia said forcefully, and Jonathan laughed, an abrupt, cut-off sound. "Anyways, can you tell me? Or is this a secret mission?"

"I'm Talia," Talia explained. What harm could there be in telling her name? "Goldwalker. Talia Goldwalker."

Jonathan nodded. "And can you tell me where I might find Clary? Or is that another secret mission?"

Was he flirting, by the Angel? Talia hoped that she wasn't blushing. "Dunedin Institute," she said.

Jonathan looked satisfied. "Well, Talia Goldwalker, my new chum," he said. "I'll see you around somewhere." He gave her a crooked grin, turned, and walked away, leaving Talia standing in the alley- right before he turned the corner, he pulled a short _kindjal_ from the belt loops of his jeans a spun it artfully in his fingers with the ease of a well-trained Shadowhunter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Okay, this chapter is going to be surprising! And long. But good. Hopefully. Leave me review and tell me if this was written well.**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

All that Clary wanted to do was sleep.

All day, she had been staring at her notepad, stele clutched in hand, trying desperately to dream up a rune that would work at something, _anything_. Something to untie all of this confusion. She wanted it desperately.

"Excuse me- Ms. Fairchild?"

Clary turned and groaned inwardly to see a boy with dark curls and hazel eyes, lanky and tall, hurrying down the hallway. He stopped a couple of feet away from her.

Clary smiled briefly at him. "Hello. Can I help you with anything?" She kept one hand on the doorknob of her room.

The boy shuffled his feet sheepishly. "I'm Christopher. Goldwalker," he clarified.

"Okay." Clary glanced desperately at the door.

Christopher seemed to understand. He ran one hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly. "I was wondering if you could help me with something," he said quietly.

"Okay..."

"My sister- she wants to volunteer for Giena's plan." Christopher looked up at her with a plea in his eyes. "I don't know why- actually, I do," he corrected himself. "Our parents..." his eyes darkend. "They were murdered by demons. Just- if you see Talia, she looks like me, we're fraternal twins- keep an eye out for her, please?"

Clary looked down at him and was reminded suddenly of Livia and Tiberus Blackthorn- they were what, fourteen or fifteen now? She wondered if they were like this boy and his sister, always trying to do the best for each other.

The boy's face was so pleading and desperate that she put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll do that," he promised.

Christopher looked surprised, and then smiled slightly unsteadily. "Thank you," he said awkwardly, and hurried back down the hall.

Clary watched him go, then headed down the hallway to the bathroom. She changed out of her jeans and sweater, exchanging them for a tanktop and flannel pajama pants, brushed her teeth, and put her hair back. She didn't look into the mirror- she didn't want to see herself, the circles of exhaustion under her eyes, the freckles across her nose standing out like ink in snow.

She headed back to her room and opened the door.

And froze.

Her blood was rushing in her ears and her heart was pounding, but how could her heart be beating if she was dead? She _was_ dead, wasn't she? Because the person sitting in front of her, gingerly on the edge of her bed, wasn't alive and wasn't real, couldn't be real.

Part of Clary broke down in sobs. Part of her plunged a knife into this boy's chest. The other part of her, the active part, stayed completely still and silent.

The boy jumped up, flicking silver-blond hair out of his green eyes. _Green eyes._ "Clary-"

The one word suddenly spiraled Clary back into the world and she staggered, clutching the doorframe for balance. She felt horribly exposed and wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she was wearing a thousand winter parkas. Her phone was six steps away. What would the police say if her dead brother was standing in front of her?

"Clary." His face was panicked. "Clary..." He paused. "Fairchild."

Fairchild? Sebastian insisted on calling her a Morgenstern. Sebastian- Nausea rose up in Clary's stomach and she swallowed. "Why are you here, Sebastian?" Her voice was shockingly steady and cold.

He winced. "I'm not him," he said quietly. "Clary- I'm Jonathan. I'm your _brother_."

Your brother. The nausea jumped up in Clary's gut and she pressed one hand to the doorknob, grasping it so tightly that she was worried the knob would come off in her fingers. Her knuckles turned white. She didn't feel the pain.

"No, you're not," she said.

Jonathan took a step towards her. "Clary-"

Clary backed up so fast that her shoulders hit the wall painfully, slamming the door shut. "Get- away- from me," she ground out.

Jonathan stopped in his tracks. His green eyes were full of something that Clary couldn't name... He raised his arms and unzipped his jacket, revealing a black thermal shirt. No weapons tucked inside. "I swear," he said softly. "I have no weapons. I will not touch you- I will not harm you. I know that I've given you a lot of reason-"

Clary snorted. "You _think_?" Bitterness soaked into her words, and suddenly she was back in Valentine's apartment, Sebastian smashing her through the glass table like a wrecking ball, her screaming, his blood on her face. "You-"

"Clary. Please." Jonathan's face was pained. "I know this, but I _need to talk to you._ As Jonathan, as your-"

"Don't say it." Clary closed her eyes. "Don't say _brother_."

Jonathan swallowed and nodded. "I just do. As Jonathan. I need a second chance, and that's been given to me, and I'll explain all of it. Just- please. I swear on the Angel, Clary Fairchild, I will not come near you or harm you at all or touch you. _Please_."

Clary stared at him. Her fingers were trembling. Was this real? Deep inside, some part of her, some perverted and strange part, ached for a brother. A real brother, who was there to support her, like that boy- Christopher- obviously supported his sister. She saw, in her mind's eye, Jocelyn, head in hands, at the table in Amatis's house. _I dreamed of a boy who laughed and cried and loved, and that, that was the boy I cried over._

Now Clary wanted that. Desperately. Someone who laughed and cried and dreamed and loved and was a _person._

"If you touch me," she said slowly. "If you come near me at all- I swear, on the Angel, I will rip your throat out. I will cut your heart out and let your blood run all over my hands so that everyone knows I killed you." Her voice was savage and shaking, and she hated herself for quavering and being weak.

Jonathan lowered his eyes and nodded. Then he took her knife off her bedside table and handed it to her- the gesture was so startling that Clary nearly dropped it. She grabbed her jacket and zipped it up tightly. Jonathan paused at the door, and a part of Clary screamed as loudly as it could at her. _Are you really going to do this, Clarissa?_

She was stronger now. She could fight him off, and she wouldn't hesistate to kill him.

Clary shoved her fists into her pockets and strode out the door.

The air was freezing. Clary tucked her face into the collar of her jacket- one hand, in her pocket, was clamped tightly around the knife hilt.

Jonathan walked three feet away from her, briskly and efficently. His hair shone under the moonlight, and he never even moved near her. He didn't even talk until they reached the coffee shop that Jace and Clary had been at two days ago.

"I wanted a second chance," he said abruptly, and Clary turned to him. "What?"

Jonathan touched one fingertip to the edge of the chair, running his fingernail along the metal ridge. "I wanted a second chance," he repeated. "To be Jonathan. To be a brother."

Clary narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "And how did you get that second chance?" An edge of sarcasm dripped from her words.

Jonathan looked up. His green eyes pierced her directly. "I was friends with Asemoudus. One of the Nine Princes of Hell. He breaks down walls and builds them... and once I died, I was Jonathan. In the last moments I was alive, that is what I was when I was dead. I was cast to Edom as a mere ghost, an apparation- I didn't need to eat or drink or sleep. I walked around Edom and I spoke to Asemodous." Jonathan closed his eyes and tipped his face up, and for a second, Clary thought that he looked like Jace- hair pale in the moonlight, falling away from his sharp and angular face.

 _Jace is not Jonathan,_ she told herself.

"I did him a favor," Jonathan said slowly.

Clary frowned. "What favor?"

"I had him appear in this world. Once. He stole the memories of a girl-" Jonathan scrunched up his face as if in pain. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Too bad," Clary snapped. Jonathan flinched and then nodded. "I know. It was wrong of me- but in turn, he gave me the chance to come up again. To this world. To redeem myself. I went to Alicante and New York to find you-" Jonathan looked at her helplessly. "Finally, I found out that you were in Dunedin. So I came here."

Clary swallowed and looked down at her feet. She didn't trust herself to speak- if she did, she would either punch something or cry. She didn't really feel up to doing either. She shuffled some gravel around with her toes.

"Do you understand?" Jonathan said softly. There was no trace of menace in his words. Just pleading. Something she had never heard in his voice before. It broke something in her heart, crumbled it, chipped it.

Clary cleared her throat. "I think I'll have to decide," she said slowly "If I trust you or not."

Jonathan's eyes brightened and a slow smile lit his features, nothing like the evil smile she had once seen him wear. This was the smile of a happy person- purely and cleanly happy.

"That's okay," he said. "Thank you. Thank you so much."


	13. Chapter 13

**This is the new chapter... sorry if it's too short. I'm trying to update as regularly as possible- I want to finish this fanfic, because I have a good ending in mind... but there's school work to think about. Ugh.**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

Talia didn't want to go back to the Institute. She didn't think that she could stand seeing Christopher and Giena and everyone that had heard her scream...

But, on the other hand, she was freezing. And exhausted. Her anger was fading, and regret was starting to kick in. Late. Like it usually was with Talia.

She checked her watch briefly- it was ten past twelve, and the city was still and cold. She clutched her jacket to her on either side. Katherine would still be up- she was the type of person who didn't fall into bed until two a.m.

Talia made a beeline for Katherine's apartment. She used an Open rune for the main door- the doorman was gone, and she didn't want to accidentally wake anyone- then climbed the three flights of stairs and buzzed Katherine's apartment.

Katherine opened the door on the second buzz. She was holding a slightly chipped mug with a teabag hanging out of it, and still wearing jeans and a simple white shirt with a knitted brown sweater. Her auburn hair was slightly awry, strands falling loose from her ponytail. Her face relaxed as she realized it was Talia.

"Hey. Tal- you okay?" She propped open the door with her foot, allowing Talia to step past her.

Katherine's apartment was cozier than Talia and Christopher's would ever be, with its plaid couches and armchairs scattered seemingly randomly around the chocolate-and-tan swirled rug. The walls were painted a cheerful light orange- there was a stack of quilts on the sofa.

"Sit," Katherine ordered, pointing at the couch. "I think we have some cookies somewhere..."

"You don't need to do that," Talia protested, but it truth, she needed some mothering. Someone to take care of her and kiss her forehead and make her feel better, and... _be_ there. She curled up obidiently on the couch, spreading a frayed quilt out over her.

"What happened?" Katherine asked from the kitchen, clattering around in some cupboards. She extracted a white tray with blue polka dots all over it.

Talia picked at the blanket. "Everything," she whispered, and tears rushed to her head- she bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling lamp.

"Specify," Katherine said sternly.

Talia sighed and kneaded her palms. "I got mad at Christopher," she said, voice wobbly. "I- I yelled at him. In front of everyone, and about..." Talia swallowed. The words wanted desperately to catch and claw in her throat, but she forced them out. "I shouted at him about forgetting our parents."

Katherine's expression smoothed into one of sympathy and angst on Talia's behalf. "Oh, Tal." She tossed some ginger cookies on a plate and opened the fridge.

Talia gritted her teeth and ploughed through it. This was her punishment. She would take it in stride. "I yelled at him because- Giena Nightdove wants to put Shadowhunters in places that demonic activity has been strongest."

Katherine filled up a glass with milk. "That's a horrid train of thought."

"I know- but it's all we can do, really. And I wanted to volunteer."

"As one of those people?"

"Yes." Guilt warped Talia's stomach.

Katherine carried the tray over to her and set it down on the stained coffee table, then settled into the plaid armchair opposite Talia. She laced her fingers together and cleared her throat diplomatically. "Talia... Christopher just wants you to be there."

"I know." Talia didn't feel the farmiliar flare of anger in her chest- instead, she picked up a cookie and bit into it. Crisp on the outside, chewy and osft on the inside. Deliciously gingery. Katherine had made them herself. They tasted heavenly, but Talia's stomach clenched and she set the bitten cookie back down. "I know..."

"It's okay," Katherine said softly. "It'll work out."

Exhaustion tugged Talia's eyelids down. She reached for the glass of milk and took a drink. She hadn't drunk milk since she was thirteen, but the milk tasted like home and comfort.

She pillowed her hand on her head. "You don't know if it will work out," she slurred sleepily. Katherine shook her head and leaned over her, face full of friendship and warmth and sadness and some depth, some emotion that Talia couldn't quite place... as she started to doze off, she felt Katherine tuck a strand of her hair soothingly behind her ear and murmur something, something so soft that Talia couldn't hear it.

She finally drifted off to sleep.


	14. Interlude

**This is from a new perspective: Katherine Stern! Only a few of the chapters will be told in Katherine's prose. Reviews are so, so, so, so appreciated! Thank you!**

 **I do not own most of these characters/settings. Cassandra Clare does.**

Katherine awoke suddenly, eyes snapping open. She sat straight up- it was still dark out. She had fallen asleep, sprawled in the plaid armchair opposite Talia. Katherine sat up slowly, wincing as her stiff back cracked- she had not wanted to leave her friend, and yet exhaustion had taken over, and she had collapsed into the armchair. Now, Talia was gone, leaving a stack of messily folded blankets, and a sticky note on the coffee table.

 _Thanks,_ it said in her loopy scrawl. _At Institute. Will see you soon. -Tal._

Katherine smiled stupidly down at the note and forced herself to stop. She shoved the paper underneath the many paper napkins in her trash, then poured herself a cup of tea, bringing a donut to her. They were slightly stale.

The taste on her lips, sugary and fatty, brought back a rush of memories that Katherine braced herself against.

The thing was, everyone had a secret. And Katherine's were her memories. So many, flooding and rushing and diving, only to be barracaided by the edges of her mind. She had tried so hard to lock them up, lock them up and wait for them to evaporate and forget.

It had been so hard when she was younger, but now, they were mostly gone.

No more vivid dreams about bustling streets and the smell of smoked chicken. Nothing about the monks in their saffron-dyed robes, always looking at her with pitying eyes. She hated those eyes.

Katherine's neck prickled, but no one was there. She knew what was happening- it was herself, tricking herself. She felt unsettled. Different.

She pushed the donuts and tea away from her and curled up on the couch with a blanket over her. It smelled like Talia, like almond shampoo and jasmine lotion and the faintest hint of sweet vanilla.

Katherine fell into an uneasy doze. She dreamed of a faceless girl with red curls and a boy, laughing, with green eyes and silver hair.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks** **so** **much to the people who have reviewed/favorited/read/followed. Hope you like this new chapter!**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

Clary didn't go to the cafeteria the next morning. Half of her was still walking with Jonathan. She felt restless, ready to jump out of her skin, like her brain was detached from her skull.

She paced her room- ten steps to the left, thirteen to the right. Her heels ached and her knuckles were white and bloodless.

There was a knock on her door and Clary literally jumped. She forced herself to calm down. _It's probably nothing._ "Hello?" Her voice wobbled, and she cleared her throat. "Hello?"

"Clary?" It was Jace. Clary cursed under her breath. This was the last thing she needed this morning...

"Hang on." In desperation, she threw on a sweater and jeans that didn't smell of the cold night air and opened the door.

Jace was dressed in a pale grey shirt and jeans, his sheathed sword strapped across his back, weapons belt buckled around his waist. He raised his eyebrows at her. "No weapons?" he teased gently.

"Where are we going?" Clary asked.

"I was going to volunteer." Jace set his hands on her waist and drew her close to him, kissing the top of her head. "Are you all right?"

 _No._ The words burned on Clary's lips. _I'm not all right. I'm breaking down. I just saw Jonathan. Not Sebastian- Jonathan. And I talked with him. Like I would talk with any_ normal _brother._

She swallowed and pushed her hands lightly against his chest. "What do you mean, going to volunteer?"

Jace drew back and gave her a conflicted look. "Giena. Do you remember...?"

Yes. She did remember. The horrible plan, the dead hope. Clary shoved his chest for real. "No, you're not. You're not going to volunteer."

Jace bit his lips together and sighed. "I'm strong. The demons can't kill me." He offered her a grin and leaned down, brushing his lips against hers.

Clary wanted to kiss him. To kiss him until the world faded away- but she drew back, not allowing the kiss. "You're not immortal."

Jace's smile dipped. "Neither are the citizens of Dunedin."

Clary grabbed her gear jacket. "Well, I'm going." Jace opened his mouth, and Clary shook her head. "Stop. You can't stop me. If you go, I go." She made her voice as hard as stone, as clear as glass.

Jace stared and lowered his gaze. "All right." He fixed her with a look. "But we go together, all right? We stay together. No matter what."

"No matter what," Clary agreed, and took his hand. His fingers interlaced with hers, comforting and farmiliar. She felt weird and tearful and strange all of a sudden and leaned up to kiss Jace's cheek- his eyes closed. "No matter what."

The alley was dark and dank and smelled of mildew. Clary clutched the Sensor in her hand- it was pulsing ever so slightly, like a weak heartbeat. She kept her hand on the hilt of her sword in her weapons' belt.

Jace was ahead of her. He had tucked his bright hair into a cap, but a few strands poked out. Witchlight was clasped his his hand, the light shining on the ground. Clary could hear his harsh breathing.

He took her hand. "No demon?" He asked, casting a quick look at her Sensor.

Clary shook her head. Words crawled up her throat. _Jace. I talked to Jonathan. I talked to my brother-_

Just then, the Sensor flashed and let out a high-pitched screaming sound.

Clary froze- Jace had gone white. "Backup," he whispered. He shoved the cell phone that Giena had ordered all volunteers to carry. "Call. Run." He shoved her.

Clary could hear a dry flapping- she opened her mouth to respond, raised her hand to grab Jace's sleeve, when a demon exploded from the street.

It had a wide, gaping mouth and lumbered towards them, startingly fast- its milky eyes swirled with strange black symbols. Jace raised his sword. "Go, Clary!" He shouted.

The demon bore down on him and Clary lunged forwards, unsheathing Heospheros as she did so. The demon reared up and spat at her- Clary dodged just in time, the sleeve of her jacket brushing some of the white goop the demon had spat. It burned against her elbow and she winced, not stopping to check for any injuries.

"Clary!" Jace was fending off the demon with his sword. " _Go_!"

"We stay together!" Clary cried out- the demon lunged back on its haunches and Clary took her chance, leaping forwards.

"Hold on to me!" she shouted to Jace- she ran, sprinted, just as the demon's head ducked and fanglike teeth barely missed her- she heard Jace yell as she flipped off the ground and plunged the sword into the demon's side.

It gave a hacking noise, a cough and a sputter, and spat again. Clary gripped the horny skin tightly between her knees and drove the sword down, over and over, until the demon flopped once more. Its ichor burned against her jacket- she resisted the urge to gag and peeled it off.

"By the Angel, Clary." Jace's hair was pasted to his temples with sweat. "What-"

Clary looked up, and her eyes met the dying demon's, and suddenly, she felt dizzy- everything was spinning towards her. She wobbled on her feet. Dimness crouched at the edge of her vision. What was happening?

She tried to take a step towards Jace, but cement was suddenly scraping her cheek and the world was still spinning. She felt fingers touch her wrist and a voice say her name-

Suddenly, she was in Idris, and she was running through a field of grass- she felt carefree and light. Jonathan ran next to her- he was laughing, and the wind tossed his silver hair back, revealing his green eyes. There was another young woman, with auburn hair that cascaded down her shoulders and a sharp face, and she was rolling around in the grass and laughing, laughing, laughing.

Clary felt the light shine down on her shoulders and laughed, too.

Then everything went dark.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks** **so** **much to the people who have reviewed/favorited/read/followed. This is a chapter in Clary's perspective again. The next will be Talia's. I think I'm nearing the end of this fanfic, but I want to tie up all the loose ends first.**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

Clary woke slowly, details coming back to her. She felt blankets over her shoulders- her eyelids felt dry as she peeled them open. She was staring at a white wall.

"Clary?" A voice near her elbow said- Clary tried to turn her head. Pain numbed her and she groaned.

A face swam into view above her. Brown hair. Crooked glasses. "Clary?"

"Simon," she whispered, and felt tears flood her eyes. Her mouth tasted dry and sticky. "Simon...?"

"Hey, budge over."

"Hey- she's my best friend!"

"Yeah, well, she's my wife. Cheater."

Another face blurred overhead. Jace, with tired eyes and a smile- but Clary could see the forcedness behind his grin. He touched her cheek and smoothed her hair back. "You okay?" he said softly.

Clary swallowed. Her throat was dry and felt swollen. "Water?" she whispered.

"She wants water," Jace called out- there was the scraping of a chair against the ground and then Simon reached down. He was holding a styrafoam cup in his hand, and his eyes were worried behind the smudged glass of his glasses.

"Here." Jace reached around to steady the back of her neck and gently eased her up. His elbows were almost locked with tension, and Clary bit her lips against a yelp of pain, biting down so hard she tasted blood. She had tears in her eyes by the time Jace propped her against pillows. At least her vision was clearer.

"Here." Jace steadied her head and gently tipped the water cup towards her lips- a thin stream poured into her dry mouth. It tasted heavenly. Clary swallowed hungrily.

Jace sat back. "Jocelyn is coming," he informed her, smoothing down her bedspread with his fingertips and taking her hand.

Clary nodded. She was exhausted. "What happened?" she asked with difficulty. Her lips felt too large and clumsy to speak.

Simon nudged Jace with his elbow. "That's your part." Though Clary could see he was trying to joke, his eyes were dark and shadowed behind their smudged glass frames.

Jace ran his fingertips up and down lightly over Clary's palms, not meeting her gaze. "That was a dream demon," he said quietly. "Not the one in Edom... but a different, more common type. Given, they're still rare. Extremely. If you look into their eyes, you dream." He cleared his throat. "And not about what you want. You dream about something that has happened, or will happen..."

Clary felt her mouth go dry. That dream had _happened?_ She had no memory of being happy with Jonathan. None. She swallowed. "Really?"

Jace nodded. His hair fell towards his eyes, obscuring his expression. "Yes. Then... you fainted. You were limp. I picked you up, I brought you back to the Insitute... your mother went berserk." A small smile twitched at his lips, but his expression quickly became somber once more. "Giena freaked. She brought you to the infirmary... even Brother Gabriel came. You were pale and your lips were blue. Giena is calling an emergency meeting this evening. We need a new plan."

Clary's head was starting to swim with all this information. Simon seemed to realize it and put his fingers against her arm. "It's all right," he said gently. "You'll be fine."

"It's not _me_ I'm worried about," Clary said fiercely. She tried to lift herself higher and felt a shock of pain blast through her- she gave a gasp through clenched teeth. "I'm worried about the plan," she said. "What's going to happen?"

Just then, the door flew open and Jocelyn practically sprinted into the room- her cheeks were flushed and she was wearing a thick, olive-colored sweater. She ran and flung her arms around Clary, nearly knocking the breath out of her. Their hair mingled and Clary could feel Jocelyn's tears on her cheek.

Her mother gripped her elbows tightly and pulled away, touching Clary's face. Her pale green eyes were swimming with tears. "My baby," she whispered. "I- I was so worried-"

"I'm all right, Mom," Clary said as gently as she could. "I feel great. More than great."

Jocelyn continued as though she hadn't heard her daughter. "You must be starving. And thirsty. Are you cold?"

That was when Clary realized that she was in her jeans and camisole- her arms were bare and prickled with gooseflesh. She shivered. "Where's my jacket? My sweater?" She directed the question to Jocelyn, but Jace answered.

"They were covered in ichor," he replied. The nurse, dressed in a black, simple dress that choked her small frame, was starting to head over to them. Jace stood and dropped a light kiss onto her forehead. "My visiting time's up," he said with a grimace. "I'll see you soon. I'll give you the details of the emergency meeting."

"Bye." Simon gave the worlds' lamest thumbs-up and flashed Clary a sweet grin, then followed Jace out the door.

Jocelyn tucked a wisp of hair behind Clary's ear and cupped her face in her palms. "I'm so worried," she whispered... her eyes were misty and she sounded half like she was talking to herself. "I wish Luke were here..." she shook her head and turned back to Clary. "I'll be here, all right? Always."

Clary nodded and smiled. She was exhausted, but she didn't want to go back to sleep for fear of Jonathan crowding her dreams. "Always," she agreed, as Jocelyn sat carefully in the chair beside Clary's cot. Clary lay down and closed her eyelids, but she didn't fall asleep. Her mind was racing, and so was her heart.


	17. Chapter 17

**So I'm trying to post a chapter everyday, but sometimes I won't get around to it...**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

"Emergency meeting. Shut up. It's an emergency meeting." The whispers jostled and clamored around Talia, buzzing like flies sticking to flypaper in her head.

She pulled her jacket tighter to herself. She had gotten back at around 3 in the morning- she had trained until her knuckles were bruised and split, and her lip was bleeding from accidentally smashing into the training bag while trying to perfect her kicking. She hadn't wanted to see Christopher, and so far, she had acheived her goal.

But now, he was heading straight towards her.

 _Oh, God._ Talia looked around desperately for a place to duck into.

Christopher approached her before she could move. She suddenly realized how much shorter she was than she- almost three inches, but right now, she felt like she was looming above him, him in his ratty tee and jeans and rumpled hair.

"Emergency meeting," he murmured. "Everybody has been ordered to meet in the meeting room. Right now."

Talia nodded mutely, and Christopher turned. She suddenly his shortsword- it was slightly rusted on the edge, with words stamped along the side and the picture of a flaming bird on the hilt. The Goldwalker symbol.

Talia remembered how her mother had given it to her when she had been seven, how she had treasured it and loved it; and she remembered when her parents had died and she had hated the sword, hated it for all the memories it was tainted with, and how she had scrubbed it clean- a fresh start- and laid it on Christopher's bed.

They never talked about it.

Talia grabbed his sleeve. "Hey. Christopher."

He turned, surprise alighting his face. "What is it?"

Talia fisted her hand around his jacket, stretching it. She swallowed. Her throat felt tight. "Chris- I- I'm sorry." She looked up at him, knowing her face was open and pleading. Knowing how pathetic she looked.

He looked at her, just looked, for a second. Then he shook his head. "You don't need to be," he said simply. "I know, Talia. I know you. Of course, I'm not pretending to know all of you. That would be stupid. But we are twins, and I love you, and I know that you'll always be my sister, no matter what. That's what really matters."

There was wisdom, ancient and deep, in his words. Talia struggled for some of her own, but she couldn't find any.

Christopher seemed to understand. "We have to go," he said instead.

Talia bit her lip. She really, really _didn't_ want to go to the emergency meeting, with all of the tense, taut faces and the worry thick in the air... "I-" she started haltingly, but Christopher cut her off.

"You don't have to come," he said softly. "I can cover for you."

Talia felt gratitude swell in her chest. "Thanks," she said. "I'm going to go get a coffee. I'm exhausted."

Christopher smiled at her- his old, sweet smile. "Okay," he said, and quickly disappeared in the mass of Nephilim, all heading towards the meeting room.

Talia tucked her hair quickly into the hood of her jacket, keeping her head bent, and scurried outside. Her breath formed smoky wisps on the frozen air. Nobody else was out on the icy streets- Talia broke into a run, nearly sprinting to the coffee shop. She entered, banging the door behind her, and walked up to the counter.

The waitress was standing there. Her black hair was cut just above her shoulders, and her skin had a waxy paleness to it. Vampire.

Talia tapped her fingernails lightly against the counter. "Could I have a cup of coffee?" She asked. "Plain."

The vampire girl smiled, revealing sharply pointed teeth. "Certainly," she replied, just as the door slammed again and Talia turned to see who it was.

It was Jonathan.

His eyes lit up and he grinned when he saw Talia. "Talia! Chum!"

Talia half-smiled. "Why do I keep running into you?" She asked, half to herself, half to him. Jonathan smiled wider.

"It's because of my irresistable charm," he answered.

Talia felt her cheeks heat up and knew she was blushing. _Stop it,_ she sternly commanded herself.

The vampire slid the coffee, steaming, to Talia- she took it and pushed a crumpled up five-dollar bill on the counter. The vampire handed her the change, and Talia exited the coffee shop. Jonathan annoyingly followed her.

"So, did you find who you were looking for?" Talia asked, pushing back the plastic tab on her coffee cup to take a sip.

"Oh, yeah, Clary? Yeah. She showed me a couple tips." Jonathan's eyes darted to the side.

Talia frowned at him. "You don't need _tips_ ," she said suspiciously.

"Why not? All people can brush up on their skills." Jonathan smiled crookedly, but it seemed a little darker than usual.

"I saw you," Talia blurted. There. Better to be straightforward than beat around the bush. "The way you spun that _kindjal._ You're a good Shadowhunter. Why didn't you tell me?"

Jonathan breathed out and paused. Talia stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Some things are better kept to themselves, chum," he replied, lifting one shoulder.

"That's not something you should lie about," Talia replied skeptically. She set her coffee cup down on the table.

"What do you know?"

Talia turned. "Listen. I don't know you, okay?"

"Yes, you do. You know my name. You've seen me three times, and we haven't killed each other. There, we're best chums. Poof."

Talia scrunched up her eyes, exasperated. But that's not me, she felt like screaming. I don't trust people on sight. Because of my parents...

"Why do I trust you?" she whispered.

She felt something brush her shoulders. Jonathan's hand. He gently moved strands of her hair behind her ear.

Talia knew that she should fight him off. Smack his hand away. Slap him in the face and kick him in the gut and then make a run for it. She didn't _know_ him.

But she felt like she did.

Instead, she stayed stone still. Jonathan gently turned her around, setting his hands on her shoulders. He was less than two feet away from her now.

"We do know each other," he said, tone solemn and serious. "I trust you."

He gently pulled her closer and leaned in, eyelashes brushing her cheek. "You trust everyone," Talia replied, and she hated herself for sounding breathless.

"I'm learning how to," Jonathan murmured.

Talia closed her eyes and felt his lips brush against hers. Softly at first- and then when she didn't pull away, with more pressure. He reached up to hold the back of her neck.

Talia gasped and knotted her fingers into his hair, nearly tearing it. Jonathan was careful, gentle- she could feel her pulse in her neck, her fingertips, her temples. Her cheeks were wet. Was she really crying?

She knew she was, and she knew why. Because of what it felt like. All her life, Talia had known she was loved, but she never _felt_ it. She had never trusted anyone to support her.

And now, she handed all of her trust to Jonathan, and let herself fall into his supporting arms.


	18. Interlude Number Two- Secrets Revealed

**Like I said, this is a Clace story with some ships with my other made-up characters (example: Talia x Jonathan!). Leave me a review with their ship name because I can't come up with one! (I'm really bad at it).**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

Katherine still felt restless and pace-y and weird. So, she went to one place that she knew of- Magnus's lodge at the Institute.

Katherine knew Magnus. They had been close friends about ten years ago, and Katherine knew Magnus wouldn't shun her. Well. She _thought_ he wouldn't send her away, but she didn't know with Magnus.

So, here she was. Outside of the door to Magnus and Alec's room like a creepy stalker. Katherine took a deep breath, pulling her fingers into a fist, and knocked.

The door flew open on the third sharp knock, and Katherine nearly fell backwards. Magnus was dressed in fraying jeans and a flannel plaid shirt with a leather cape over it. His dark hair was tousled and wet.

"Oh. Katherine," he said, face relaxing. "Why are you here?"

"Kind greeting." Katherine rubbed the top of her head and headed into Magnus's room. Magnus had set up two folding chairs with a quit across them, susceptibly in place of a couch, his suitcases along with Alec's crammed up against the wall. There were dark and slightly ratty curtains over the two square windows, and a hallway.

Katherine raised her eyebrows. "You have two rooms?"

"Suite. They thought- they, as in the Dunedin Institute- if two people stayed in one room, they should have more space." Magnus shrugged. "Can I get you some water?"

"You have drinks here?"

"Yeah." Magnus gestured to a folding table in the corner. It had a jug of orange juice sitting atop it, a stack of plastic cups, a half-eaten crossaint, and a chipped cup of something.

"Wow. You have folding-everything." Katherine made a weak attempt at a joke- her stomach was knotting all over itself. She twisted her fingers together and told herself sternly to calm down.

Magnus turned to her. "You came here for a reason? Or did you just drop by for a friendly chat?"

"I came here for a reason," Katherine said. She swallowed hard.

Magnus looked concerned for her well-being. "Sit," he ordered. Katherine sat gingerly on the edge of the two folding chairs pushed together. She watched as Magnus filled up a plastic cup with orange juice and handed it to her.

Katherine took it, cupping her hands around it as if for warmth. "Thanks," she murmured, deliberately avoiding Magnus's eye.

Magnus dragged one of the folding chairs across the ground until they were sitting facing each other. He threw himself down in it. He looked tired, and Katherine was truly grateful to him- for the orange juice, and for letting her talk to him. Somewhere where she didn't feel as empty, where she wasn't bogged down by memories and painful thoughts.

"How are you doing?" Magnus asked.

Katherine tapped her fingers against the plastic rim of the cup. "Well... Giena apparently called a meeting, Christopher Goldwalker told me. Two people have been attacked and the Institute is having to shift plans-"

"No." Magnus waved one slender hand dismissively. "I mean you."

"Oh. Me? I-I'm doing fine." That was a complete lie. Every night, Katherine tossed and turned for hours before she could go to sleep, trying hard to shut down her mind but never suceeding. It was like a wound that would never close or scab over. She took a sip of orange juice. It tasted like wet grass.

Magnus pierced her with his unnerving gaze. "I know that times are rough," he said quietly. "And all that we need to do is find the source and eliminate it." He clenched his fist, bones popping out against his skin.

"I'm a mundane." The words blurted from Talia's lips. "I never wanted to be a Shadowhunter! I mean-" she gestured wildly. "The only reason I would ever agree to help is because of Talia. Because she's my friend and I- I-" she suddenly realized what she was saying, the truth, and backed down, swallowing her sentence.

Magnus's eyes were sharp. "Because you love her," he finished quietly.

Katherine nearly tumbled off her chair. She knew that Magnus knew her, but she never thought that he could see her. Really see her, past all of the barriers and caution tape she had strung up over the years. She was about to deny it, the lie forming in her throat, but there was something in Magnus's eyes... something ancient and raw and deep and real, something that made the truth hard to hide.

She nodded.

Magnus tipped his head to one side and leaned back. "I felt the same way when I first met Alec. Being compressed. Like there's a part of you that no one ever sees, that you want to scream out loud because you can't take it anymore." His words were forceful and hard.

Katherine nodded again- because it was true. So much truth. All stripping off the protective armor she had layered herself with forever.

Just then, there were footsteps and a Nephilim boy came down the hall. His expression was serious, dark hair falling towards his eyes, which were a startling blue. He was dressed in only jeans, and his bare skin glowed silver. "Mag-" he started, and then his eyes caught Katherine and a flush of red spread across his cheekbones. He made a startled sound in the back of his throat and backed up. "What?"

If she hadn't already been in love with another person, Katherine would've thought he was exceedingly handsome. Instead, she found herself embarassed, like she had just stumbled in on a private moment. "Hey..." she said awkwardly. "I just needed to talk with Magnus."

Alec's eyes narrowed slightly, but Katherine saw it.

"About everything," Katherine hastened to explain. She half-rose. "I'm Katherine Stern..."

An old lie. So old that she had forgotten it was even a lie. She shoved the thoughts violently down and continued. "I know Magnus, and, um, there's been a lot of tension in my life lately..."

"She just wanted to talk with me," Magnus said. "What is it?"

"You weren't at the meeting," Alec said. His face had softened marginally. "Giena is calling for help from Idris. She's at her end- she has no idea what to do. In the meantime, the wards are being doubled, and we're all walking around double-armed."

"I already have two arms."

Alec rolled his eyes, but it was sweet- he bent and kissed Magnus lightly on the mouth. Katherine averted her eyes. They were so easy together. Nothing seperating them.

"I'll be there soon," Magnus said. Alec nodded. He jerked his chin towards Katherine in a hopefully friendly gesture and padded back down the hallway, dark hair obscuring his expression.

"Well, I have to get going." Katherine pushed back her hair and took a sip of the orange juice to be polite. "Thank you for your hospitality, Magnus."

She started to stand, grabbing for her jacket, when Magnus caught her wrist. "Wait. Katherine."

Startled, Katherine turned. "Yes?"

Magnus's voice was low and urgent. "Katherine. Where were you born?"

"Dunedin. New Zealand." Katherine was baffled. "What-?"

"No. You were born in Bangkok, Thailand- weren't you?"

Something rose up in Katherine- a golden-domed temple and the sweet taste of coconut on her lips- but so old and vauge that she couldn't recgonize it. She felt shaken. "I was born in D- Dunedin." Her voice sounded unsure.

Magnus shook his head, sorrow in his eyes. "Katherine," he said softly, and moved closer to her, placing his thumb between her eyes and closing his. Katherine stared at him, frozen, as his skin began to shine like a star- Katherine gasped and just then a bolt of pain, as dark as a comet, screeched through her. She was frozen and standing there and suddenly reeling-

She was walking through the Bangkok Institute, the geckos clinging to the walls around her. A Thai woman with dark, straight hair and Clave robes rushed up to her and started speaking rapid-fire Thai. Katherine understood. She nodded and then her mind was spiraling somewhere else- green grass and lush fields, the scent of Idris, sharp in her nose. A boy standing there, next to her, his eyes black and dark and his silver-blond hair tossing in the wind, face drawn in cruel lines. A girl next to him, with long red curls and dazzling green eyes and confusion on her face, and a man behind them, his hands on their shoulders. He looked exactly like the boy. "Katherine," he said. His voice was as soft as snake poision. "Jonathan. Clarissa. You are siblings, and nothing can change that."

Katherine's eyes flew open- the world blurred and spun around her, the feeling of a hot wire jabbing between her eyes. She threw up her hands and felt the slick tile of floor against her cheek-

Someone was leaning over her. "Katherine. Katherine."

Someone's face, gold-green cat eyes and rumpled hair. Magnus Bane.

Katherine shook her head. Her face was wet- she brought her fingers up to her cheeks and felt tears and a sob shook her body.

Memories surged onto her, waves breaking over her spine. Cracking her apart. All of them. The ones she had worked so hard to hide, she had gone to the Silent Brothers to take away.

"Katherine. What's your last name?" Magnus said gently, and Katherine saw a star falling behind her closed lids. She pressed her forehead into her wrist until she could feel the ache of the truth rupturing out after all this time.

"Morgenstern. I'm Katherine Morgenstern."

Thanks for reading and please review!


	19. Chapter 19

**I haven't given shoutouts before, but I'm starting now. Shoutout to angelcarstairs4679. Thanks for the awesome reviews!**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

When Clary woke, it was dark. Her mouth was dry and tasted like sand- she glanced over and saw Jocelyn, head pillowed on her arm, red curls spreading out over her hands, asleep and slumped forwards in her chair.

Clary felt something overwhelming sweep over her- she swallowed and leaned over to see a cup of water sitting on her bedside table. She grabbed it and downed the contents thirstily, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and carefully got out of the hospital cot. She was still in her jeans and cami, and the air was cold against her bare skin. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, finding her sneakers tucked under her bed. She slid her feet into them, lacing them up quickly, and gently brushed a curl away from Jocelyn's cheek.

Jocelyn's face was smooth with exhaustion, her eyelids fluttering against her cheeks. There were lines around her lips and eyes however, lines that Clary had not noticed before. Silver shot through the red of her hair. Clary felt a weird teariness for some reason- she leaned down and kissed her mother gently on the forehead. "I'll be fine," she whispered to Jocelyn, and crept as quietly as she could out of the infirmary.

The moon shone overhead, shrouded with clouds, the light dulled. The air was bitingly cold. Clary ducked her head and started to run, not looking up.

Suddenly, she felt something hard and she stumbled back, gasping as the wind was knocked from her and as her wrist scraped hard against the pavement- pain shot through her blue-jeaned knees and she struggled for breath.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God." Somebody was repeating the phrase over and over again. "Oh, my God. Are you all right? Oh, I am so sorry-" Clary felt a hand wrap around her wrist and looked up.

A woman about her age was leaning over her. She had sharp facial features and smooth auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Are you okay?" she repeated. Her voice sounded strange. Farmiliar-strange. Like Clary could put her finger on it, but she couldn't...

She caught her breath. "Yeah. I'm- fine."

"Oh, God." The woman helped Clary up. "I'm so-"

She stopped suddenly and gasped.

"What? Is everything all right?" Clary turned worriedly to her. The woman's eyes were trapped wide open, and her face was pale. She swallowed visibly.

"I- you just look like- someone I know," the woman said.

"Oh." Clary nodded. She was about to say something else, but the woman gasped again and pointed at her wrist. Clary craned her neck to see- blood was trickling down her arm from the scrape.

"It's nothing," she assured the other woman. The wound was even beginning to close up, and she wiped it against her jeans. Her knees stung. "Sorry about that. I'm just going somewhere." Clary realized how lame this sounded two minutes later.

"Oh." The woman regarded her strangely and stepped aside. "Well, sorry about that..."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Clary stepped past her. A thought, a memory, whispered in the back of her brain... so far... too far to grasp...

She turned abruptly. "Do we- know each other?" she blurted.

The woman just locked eyes with her briefly. Clary's mind struggled- a coffee shop- the smell of Idris, a hand on her shoulder- she clutched desperately at the thoughts but they flew away suddenly-

The woman lifted her shoulder and smiled. It was bitter and sad and sweet. "Maybe," she said quietly. "I guess we'll have to wait and find out."

0o0o0o

Still shaken by her strange encounter with the seemingly farmiliar woman, Clary sprinted to the Dunedin Institute. It was quiet and dark. She went lightly upstairs and carefully pushed open the door to Jace's room.

He was asleep under the covers, golden hair pale against his pillow, his body rising and falling gently with each deep breath. Clary climbed carefully into bed beside him and pulled the covers up to her chin, breathing in the soap-sweat-metal smell of Jace.

He stirred in his sleep, his eyes opening slightly. "Clary?"

"Shush." Clary wrapped her arms around him. "I'm fine."

"Your mom will be worried," Jace murmured.

"I don't want to be alone," Clary replied. Jace opened his mouth to respond, but Clary kissed him lightly on the lips, stopping his words. "Go back to sleep," she whispered. "I'll be fine. And so will you."

0o0o0o

Clary woke in the morning. Pale, grey dawn light spread over the bed.

"Hey, sleeping beauty."

Clary rolled over to see Jace. His hair was damp and he was dressed in jeans and a black shirt with a red hoodie half-zipped over it. He smiled and chucked a pillow lightly at her.

Clary let it smash her in the face.

"Ahh, come on. Even though it's early in the morning, you can't lose your reflex skills," Jace teased.

Clary pressed her face into the pillow. "Do I have to get up?"

"Are you feeling better?"

Clary rolled back over. "Much." She half-propped herself on her elbows. "I don't have any clothes."

"Here." Jace tossed her a plain white shirt and jeans. Clary raised her eyebrows. "You're about two heads taller than me- and you hand me clothes?"

"What, and you're going to ask Isabelle to borrow clothes? You'll end up in a strapless dress that barely goes down to your knees." Jace was grinning.

Clary grinned back helplessly. "Fine." She threw the pillow back at him and he caught it, tossing it on the bed. "I'm going to go down to the cafeteria. Are you hungry? I can bring you back something."

Clary ran her fingers through her curls. "I should go check on my mom. Make sure that she's not freaking out that I've suddenly gone MIA."

"Okay." Jace smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll see you soon, then."

"Soon," Clary agreed, and he shut the door carefully behind him. Clary changed- the sleeves of the shirt swallowed up her elbows and she had to roll the jeans up so that she wouldn't trip over them- but they were better than nothing. She found a leather jacket of Jace's and slipped it on, then checked her phone. She had five texts from Jocelyn, all basically saying the same thing- WHERE ARE YOU?

Clary texted back a quick reply, then wrangled her hair back. She felt tight and empty.

She needed to go see Jonathan again. She knew that was what she needed to do.

Clary rubbed her face with her palms. _Do you really trust him?_ her mind asked insistently. _He tried to- never mind, you don't want to think about that. But really? It's all just a ploy. A fake. A trick._

 _He has green eyes,_ another part of Clary repeated stubbornly.

 _Stupid thinking,_ the other part warned her.

"Shut up," she mumbled into her fingers. She wiped her face, grabbed her cellphone, shoved it into her pocket, and dashed quickly out of the Institute. The wind bit sharply at her her arms.

She saw a figure leaning against a cinderblock wall. He was dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt with jeans- when he lifted his head, Clary saw a farmiliar flash of green eyes and felt nervousness clench in her stomach.

 _You really trust him?_

Clary swallowed as Jonathan pushed off the wall, lowering his hood. He was grinning. Warmly. Brotherly. It made her wary.

"Hey," he said.

"Hello."

"I was looking for you."

"That's creepy-stalkerlike behavior," Clary said. She didn't mean for it to come out bitingly, but it did.

"I'm not a creepy stalker."

 _But you used to be,_ Clary's mind screamed. _You used to be Sebastian._

Maybe Jonathan could read her face or mind, but his smile dipped slightly. He shuffled his feet against the ground. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you."

"Okay..." Clary folded her arms.

"Do you want to get some hot chocolate? There's a great place around here."

"Okay..."

Jonathan started walking, and Clary fell into step with him. Still three feet of distance between them. Jonathan pushed his fists into his pockets- his breath huffed against the air.

Then, "I'm in love with someone." The words were quiet and in a rushed jumble, falling from his mouth like a tumbling waterfall.

Clary was shocked. She almost stopped in her tracks- she stared at him. "What? Who?" Foir a second, it was almost like they were normal brother and sister, him telling her the gossip and her demanding more.

But the details came back- the good distance between their feet, Clary's icy coldness.

"A Shadowhunter. Her name is..." Jonathan sighed and looked up at the sky- a slight grin touched his lips. "Talia."

 _Talia._ Didn't her brother rush up to Clary and beg her, plead her, to look after his sister?

"You fell in love?"

"I think."

"You can't." The words came out of Clary's mouth, sharp and cold and icy, like twin bullets. Jonathan stopped and looked at her, surprise written on his face.

"Wha- Clary?" He was shocked. Truly shocked. It made a hole in Clary's heart, and she shoved the pain down. It was true. The truth. He couldn't get attached.

 _Don't hurt him. He's your brother._

Clary folded her arms. "You won't be able to stay. Did you think you could stay?"

"I-" Jonathan gaped.

"Well, you can't," Clary said sharply, and she turned and walked away.

Thank you for reading and please review!


	20. Chapter 20

**Shoutout to Zoe0405. Thank you for the great reviews and following the story!**

 **Anyways, I'm sorry I haven't been updating lately, and I'll try to get around to it as soon as I can, but the chapters might be shorter...**

 **I do not own the Mortal Instruments or most of the characters. Cassandra Clare does.**

Talia was half-awake when her phone started buzzing. Her eyes blearily peeled open and she rolled over with a groan, looking at her phone. There was an unknown number there.

She pressed the "cancel" button. The sky was lightening marginally outside- Talia looked at her watch. It was seven fifty-two. She pressed her fingertips into her eyes, rubbing away the sleep, and sat up, just as her phone started buzzing again. More urgently. Insistent.

Talia grabbed it off her nightstand and held it in her hand, studying the number. It was the same area code... who _was_ it?

The phone stopped ringing. And then started again. Could Katherine have gotten a new phone number?

Talia pressed the green "accept" button and held the phone up to her ear. "Hello?" she said warily.

"Talia?" The voice was crackly with static. Male. And familiar. Talia's eyebrows crunched up together in the middle of her forehead. "Hello?" she repeated.

"It's Jonathan," the voice said quietly.

The events of that day crashed back on Talia- the overwhelming softness of trust that had enveloped her for such a brief period of time. The vulnerability of her heart, and her not caring about what would happen. Well, it was different now- remembering the feeling of Jonathan's lips, gentle and careful, on hers, made Talia's face heat up.

"Yes?" she snapped, pretending to sound impatient. "What is it?"

"Talia..." Jonathan breathed out, and there was a silence on the phone line. Something unspoken. Talia could feel worry arising in her gut. She frowned.

"What is it?" she repeated louder. "What did you call me for? If it was about- about-" she forced her cheeks to cool down and started over. "If-"

"Partly. And partly not. I need to talk to you in person. I'll be at the coffee shop- the one from the other day. Please, Talia. It's important." Jonathan's voice dropped. " _Please._ "

The urgency in his voice was unnatural. Talia swallowed. _Do I trust him?_

 _You kissed him!_ Her brain screamed. _Of course you trust him..._

She nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "I'll be there."

The phone line clicked dead and Talia was left staring at it, wondering if she had made the right choice.

0o0o0o

The wind was biting as Talia quickly scurried down the sidewalk. She had tucked a scarf, a grey-and-dark-blue striped one, around her neck and was wearing a jacket, but it still didn't prevent the chilling air entirely. Her boots scuffed against the damp cement as she hurried along, straining her eyes until she could see the coffee shop and a figure standing there. Her heart rate picked up. _Jonathan._

 _Stop,_ she told herself. _That meant nothing. He could be here to break up with you. Before you even got together. So stop._

Jonathan pushed himself off the brick wall he had been leaning against and walked quickly up to her before she could reach him. His eyebrows were pulled together, his mouth twisted into a tight frown, his green eyes dark and shadowed.

Talia stopped two feet away from him, a considerable distance between them. Her breath puffed on the frozen air. "Well? What did you drag me out here for?"

Jonathan huffed out a sigh and rubbed his face with the back of his wrist. "I saw Clary about an hour ago. She-"

Talia's body tensed up. " _Clary?_ Fairchild? What do you want with her? More _training_?" she spat, and then immediately wished she could take it back- Jonathan's face crumpled into a hurt expression.

"No," he said quietly. "She's my sister."

The blow could not have been more shocking- Talia reeled back. "She- she is?"

"That's not the point." Jonathan jammed his hands into his pockets. "I told her about you. About how... I'm just going to say this straight out." He looked at her point-blank, and his eyes burned holes into hers. Talia could almost feel them. "I'm in love with you. I've never been in love with anyone before. And then Clary... she's right. She told me that it's never going to last. That I'm not going to be able to stay here... and Talia, I am so, so sorry for giving you this false hope. I-"

Talia felt anger and confusion roiling in her stomach- she clenched her fists around the sleeves of her jacket."So you kissed me for no reason? And what do you _mean,_ anyways, when you say that it's never going to last? What do you mean?"

"I mean that..." Jonathan looked up at the steel-colored sky. "I didn't used to be me," he said quietly. "I used to be someone entirely different. But then I got stabbed with Heospheros, the dawn-bringer, and that changed me... I was sent to Edom and I made a deal with a demon to bring me back. I wanted a second chance." He looked at her helplessly. "I wanted one so badly- a chance to be a good brother and I good son, someone good in this world, to leave one last imprint that was _good._ And..."

Talia's stomach clenched up- she stared at Jonathan. She had handed over her trust, all of it, and this is what had happened. _You knew it would happen!_ she screamed at herself. Fury rose in her- she she raised her hand and slapped Jonathan as hard as she could across the face, seeing her hand, fingerprints red, on his pale skin.

"I hate you," she said, and she spun around and ran, ran towards Katherine's apartment, tears flying out of her eyes and biting her cheeks, slipping down her raw skin. A sob burst its way from her chest and she wanted to scream until her throat was empty of all this pain that she had been put under. It had happened again, and she promised herself she would never do that again. Never trust someone. Never hand over everything that could all be taken away.


	21. IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey, everybody. I'm so sorry that I haven't been updating this; I was really on a roll and then I kind of just lost it. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm going to be able to continue this fanfic. I have a horrible reputation with starting stories and never finishing them... *sighs* Anyways, I just want to thank you all for hanging in with me. Thanks!


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